


The Waitress

by emmawicked



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coffee Shops, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Updates on Mondays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmawicked/pseuds/emmawicked
Summary: You work at a coffee shop, and this weird kid keeps coming in.Or,Five tries to find Vanya a bit of normalcy.





	1. Five

“Coffee. Black. Now.”

You stare at the dark-haired boy sitting at the counter. Briefly, you wonder where his parents are, but then decided that you really don’t care.

“What size?”

“What’s the biggest you have?”

You scribble ‘large’ down on your notepad.

“Do you want anything else?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and gives you a grin that someone else might interpret as sweet.

“Can I have a name?”

“Five.”

You blink, but write it down anyway. It’s not as strange as naming a child ‘Stormi', but it’s up there.

“It’ll be out in a sec.”

You turn around and miss the curious look the boy aims at your back. You wait for the new pot to finish brewing before filling a plain mug with coffee. The scent diffuses into the air until the store smells like warmth and spice. You hope that there’s some left in the pot for you to have once the store closes.

You start when you turn around and the kid is still staring at you. Weird.

“Here you go.” You slide the mug over to him, but he doesn’t touch it.

“What? No lecture about how I’m ‘too young to be drinking that, young man’?”

You get the feeling he’s quoting someone directly.

“It’s your money,” you say, “If you want coffee then you can have it. I’m not your mother.”

Five gives a noncommittal hum and takes a gulp of coffee. There’s something unsettling about this kid, but you can’t place it. Or maybe you’re just tired and need to go to bed. Or maybe all kids are this weird and you just haven’t spent much time with them. Or maybe it’s all of the above. God, you wish you weren’t working tonight.

“I wish everyone shared your point of view,” he says wistfully. His fingers wrap around the cup, holding its warmth.

“Well, I don’t get paid enough to care about every teenager who comes in here wanting caffeine.”

Five’s lip curls like he knows something you don’t. You aim a glance at the door, despite knowing that no one is coming to get coffee at 9 on a Tuesday evening. Another hour and you can start cleaning up. You’re just lucky no one spilled anything during your shift today. Turning around, you start to rearrange the coffee cups when the kid’s voice stops you.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?”

His light colored eyes stare into yours.

“You heard me. How old are you?”

It’s not your imagination; this kid really is weird. “I’m twenty-seven.”

He hums. “You’re about my sister’s age.”

“Okay?” You kinda hope he hurries up and drinks his coffee. You don’t get paid enough to deal with this.

Five sighs like _you’re_ the weird one in this conversation.

“So what do you like to do…?” He calls you by your first name and for a second you’re startled until you remember you’re wearing a name tag.

“What do you mean?”

“You know: hobbies, past times, particular skill sets you have an interest in cultivating. Do you need the dictionary definition too?”

“I did pass high school English, thanks,” you say dryly, “I was more wondering why you wanted to know.”

“Call me curious.”

You glance between him and the door, hoping a customer will come in and save you from this strange, moody child. The fact that he’s dressed like an English school boy doesn’t help matters.

“Will you answer my question or not?”

You sigh and lean against the counter, arms crossed.

“Well, for hobbies I like to crochet, I read for about two hours before bed, and for ‘particular skill sets’ I speak mediocre Spanish and I’m very good at making bread. Pretzels are my favorite. Sweet, not savory. Is that enough information for you?”

Five disregards your question. “Who are your favorite authors?”

“Ooo tough one; I’d say probably Neil Gaiman, Ray Bradbury, and Virginia Woolf.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

You tilt your head, scratching absently at your forearm. “I mean, I played cello in high school, but I haven’t really since then.” That’s actually really pathetic, you should practice soon. Hopefully your parents didn’t toss the instrument out of their storage unit.

“Why did you quit playing?”

You shrug. “Not a particular reason. I played a little in college, but since I wasn’t majoring in music or anything I didn’t see the point in continuing.”

“There’s always a point. Music is a great stress reliever- or, so I’m told.”

“It’s only a stress reliever if you’re good at it; art is like that too.”

“Touché,” he says, “Are you an artist?”

“I draw occasionally. I wouldn’t really consider myself an artist. What about you?”

“I’m more of math person.”

“That’ll take you far; you’re lucky you’re good at it.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.”

“Well,” you say, shifting your weight back to your feet and stretching, “Not everyone has the ability to be good at math.”

“It’s just logic.”

You snort. “Have you seen the people in this city? I think I’ve met a total of six people with logic, and even less with common sense. This entire city is sharing like, sixty brain cells.”

“Good point. My siblings aren’t particularly gifted in that regard; the amount of times I’ve had to bail them out…” He takes another sip of coffee with an irritated look on his face. For a moment, you’re thankful you don’t have siblings. You don’t think you could’ve survived if you had one as strange as this one.

“You know, the coffee isn’t terrible,” he says.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

You try to resist the urge to roll your eyes and then realize there’s no point in refusing so you do it anyway. You’re grateful your boss rarely comes in anymore.

“What made you come to the middle of the city to get coffee at nine in the evening?”

“I was… looking for someone.”

You rest your head in your hands. “Who were you looking for?”

“No one in particular.”

God, this kid is weird.

“Well,” you say, humoring him, “Did you ever find them?”

Five smiles.

“I think I did,” he says. He looks you up and down with his cool-colored eyes that gleam too bright for a thirteen-year-old boy. He gulps down the rest of his two-dollar coffee before sliding it across the counter.

“See you around, kid,” he says. He tosses a crumpled twenty onto the counter and walks out the door, the doorbell chiming behind him.

“His poor parents,” you mutter to an empty store. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, even though the store isn’t technically closed. You take a sip, warmth filling your chest. If any vanilla syrup goes missing, no one will really notice. Coffee tastes so much better when paired with something else.


	2. Vanya

The boy comes in during your shift the next evening. He glares at the two college students sitting at the counter.

“ _Move_ ,” he hisses.

They leave in a hurry and you sigh.

“Did you have to scare away my only customers?”

“It’s not like they hadn’t already ordered,” he retorts, “Besides, they’re _Philosophy_ majors.”

You want to ask him how the hell he knew that, but you get distracted when you see the woman he has in tow.

“Oh,”you say eloquently, “Hello.”

The woman smiles at you, soft and uncertain. “Hello.” You wonder who she is. She looks a tad too young and far too pretty to be Five’s mom. Her demeanor seems too sweet to ever raise a kid like the one sitting in front of you.

You shake yourself out of whatever daze you were in and take their orders.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” you say, amused after Five orders another large black coffee.

“What can I say, I just couldn’t stay away from the world’s most average cup of coffee.” You think it’s mean to sound scathing, but it just comes out a little ridiculous coming out of a thirteen-year-old boy’s mouth.

“Maybe if you’d order something other than black coffee, it wouldn’t be so mediocre.”

He makes a disgruntled noise but doesn’t reply. You count that as a win for you.

“And what can I get you?” You ask, turning your attention to the woman at his side.

“Do you have any recommendations?”

You tap your pencil against your notepad. “Well, if you’re a fan of pumpkin, we just got our fall flavors in. The pumpkin spice cappuccino is really good. And if you don’t, you can get any of the flavors on the board.”

She bites her lower lip as she skims through the chalkboard behind you. “Pumpkin sounds fine,” she says, “I’ll have that.”

“Would you like whipped cream or frothed milk on top?”

“Whipped cream please.”

“May I have a name for the order?”

“Vanya.”

“Pretty name.”

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you think her cheeks darken.

“Thank you,” she says.

You smile before pushing the start button on the espresso machine. You ready Five’s order while you wait. He drums his fingers impatiently against the countertop and you decide against giving him his coffee right away. You let it sit on the counter as you mix in pumpkin syrup and steamed milk into Vanya’s cappuccino. You top the drink off with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. The spice blend wafts through the air, warming your senses in a way that the faulty radiator can’t.

“Here you are.” You give Vanya her drink first and pretend not to see the glare Five sends your way. She takes a tentative sip and makes a noise of surprise.

“It’s good.”

You smile. “No need to sound so shocked.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean-”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.”

She definitely flushes at that, taking another sip to hide her face. You smile softly to yourself and put Five’s coffee in front of him. He latches onto it immediately, face relaxing into something almost like happiness.

“Why do you ask for names anyway?” Five asks, “It’s not like this place is bustling with customers.”

“Maybe it would be, if you didn’t scare them off.” You’re lying; ever since the Starbucks opened up a block away, there’s practically no business in the evenings.

He rolls his eyes and suddenly you realize why your mom was always so irritated when you did that as a teenager. Sorry mom, you think.

“Oh please,” he says, “I was rescuing you from having to hear about the varying beliefs of Emmanuel Kant. I did you a favor.”

As much as you hate to admit it, he does have a point.

“Whatever, kid,” you say.

“Call me kid again and you lose a finger.”

You eye the butter knife he’s clutching in his hand and decide not to risk it. You _really_ feel sorry for his parents.

“Five, be nice,” Vanya scolds.

Five drops the knife and relaxes back into his seat. “Fine,” he grumbles, drinking from his coffee.

Huh. Maybe she _is_ his mother, you think. How the hell did someone so sweet make someone so irritable? Genetics are a mystery.

“What have you two been up to today?” You ask because 1) you’re really bored and 2) you haven't had an actual, human conversation all day.

Vanya shrugs. “Not much. I went grocery shopping and then to rehearsal.”

“I killed a man with a pair of chopsticks,” Five says cheerfully.

You ignore him and mentally decide to never have children.

“That’s really cool! Are you a singer?”

Vanya shifts in her seat. “No, I play violin.”

A previous conversation clicks in your head.

“Oh! Are you Five’s sister?”

Vanya’s forehead creases and her coffee cup clinks against the saucer as she sets it down. “Yes, why?”

“No reason, he just mentioned you yesterday.”

Vanya turns around to glare at Five, but he’s no longer there. Blinking, you stare at the spinning chair you swear he was in five seconds ago. You wonder where the hell he went. The doorbell didn’t even ring…

“God, I hate it when he does that,” she mutters under her breath before turning her attention back to you. “Sorry about him.”

“It’s no problem,” you say, cleaning up Five’s somehow-empty coffee cup.

“Do you know why Five mentioned me yesterday?”

“Honestly? No clue. He’s a weird kid, no offense.”

“None taken.”

You get the feeling she hears that a lot.

Resting your forearms against the counter, you chew on your lip in concentration. “I think he said I was about his sister’s age,” you say as you try to remember, “He also said something about instruments, so I just assumed it was you.”

Vanya groans and hides her face in her hands.

“I think he’s trying to set us up,” she says wearily, taking a fortifying gulp of her coffee, “He keeps saying I ‘need more friends’ or some shit.”

You don’t think you would mind being her friend.

“Well?” You ask, humoring her, “Do you?”

Vanya sighs. “Maybe. I hate admitting he’s right though; he gets unbearable sometimes.”

“I’ve heard little brothers are supposed to be annoying like that.”

“Yeah, maybe. Sorry he roped you into this. He has no sense of boundaries.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t mind.”

You glance at her cappuccino and see that it’s gone.

“Do you want a refill?” The store doesn’t do refills, but something in her face makes you unable to help yourself. She looks up at you and the corners of her eyes crinkle up in gratitude.

“Sure. Please.”

You busy yourself with the espresso machine, absent-mindedly humming to yourself as you ready a replacement coffee.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Nah,” you say, putting a small peak of whipped cream on with a whisk, “I’m an only child. I was really spoiled too.”

“I can’t really imagine that.”

You laugh. “You just haven’t spent enough time with me yet. You’ll see.” You tap a sprinkle of cinnamon onto the whipped cream. After a heartbeat, you add another. She looks like she could use it.

“I feel like it would be nice to be an only child. That way you get all the attention.”

“True,” you say, sliding the cappuccino in front of her, “But parents are usually stricter. At least with siblings you have someone to distract the parents with if you’re in trouble.”

“Avoiding attention wasn’t really a problem as a child.” Her eyes grow distant and you feel bad for bringing up the subject.

“So, do you have any other siblings besides Five?”

Her expression hardens. “Yeah, we have fi-four other ones.”

“Damn. Sounds like a busy household. Are you close with any of them?”

Vanya lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Not at all. I’m probably closest to Five. The others and I don’t really… get along. We didn’t speak for twelve years.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Twelve years? That’s a long time.”

“Yeah, well. It was mostly my fault.”

“I doubt that.”

She looks up at you, confusion in her eyes. You notice that they’re hazel.

“There’s not many good reasons to abandon a family member like that. And- forgive me if I’m wrong- but you don’t seem particularly abusive. So unless you stole all of their credit cards and racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt or something, there’s no excuse for cutting someone out like that.”

She hunches in on herself. “Well, you don’t know my family. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. Ever since Five came back, he’s been trying to get us to bond more or some shit. He keeps making all of us get together for “family time” once a week. I mean, I appreciate the thought, but it doesn’t make up for them ignoring me my whole childhood.”

The words ‘I’m sorry’ hang on your tongue, thick and wrong in your mouth. You swallow them back and settle for a stilted silence.

“Sorry,” Vanya says, “I didn’t mean to dump on you like that.”

You hum. “It’s not a problem. You seemed like you needed to talk.”

“Yeah, still probably shouldn’t tell all my woes to random strangers.”

“Well according to your brother, I’m your future best friend.”

Vanya tries to smile, but within seconds it fades away. The line of her mouth slants towards unhappy and the lines on her face make her look older. You think about letting it go. Letting her leave. You think about letting her stay unhappy and small and sad, but something in your chest balks at the thought. You stick your hand out and introduce yourself. She only stares at it for a moment before taking it.

“See?” You say, “Now we’re not strangers.”

Her palm is warm.

“I guess we’re not.”

The line of her mouth softens into something resembling contentment.

Vanya drains the rest of her cappuccino and sighs. “I guess I should probably find Five. God knows what he’s getting up to.”

“Good luck with that.”

She smiles at you ever so slightly and hands over a ten dollar bill.

“Oh, and just some advice. I wouldn’t call him kid. He gets really touchy about it.”

You shrug. “I’ll keep it in mind,” you say, handing over the change.

She turns to leave and you call after her.

“Come back soon,” you say,

“I will,” she promises. She looks back at you once before she leaves.

You hope she keeps her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas, as a bday present to me leave a comment down below if you liked the chapter ;-)


	3. Klaus

Vanya doesn’t come in during your next shift. Or the shift after that. Or the shift after that. You tell yourself it’s ridiculous to be disappointed— you’ve only met the woman once— but you can’t help yourself. Well, you think as you take a cleaning rag to the espresso machine, perhaps it’s just not meant to be.

The doorbell chimes.

“Hello, how can I- you’re back?”

Vanya smiles sheepishly

“Sorry, I’ve just been really busy the past couple days.”

“She’s lying,” Five says bluntly, “She’s been hoped up in her apartment, avoiding everyone. I had to drag her out here.”

“Ooo he’s got you there, Vanya.”

You turn to the unfamiliar man and his eyes stare piercingly out of dark under eye bags and smudged mascara.

“You must be the waitress these two won’t shut up about!” He says, holding out a tattooed hand, “My name’s Klaus.” From your angle, you can just make out the word ‘HELLO’ in black, bold letters. You wonder if he got that tattoo so he didn’t have to wave to greet people. After a moment of hesitation, you take it.

“Enchantée, mademoiselle,” he says, giggling, “Ta beauté est hors pair.”

“Nice to meet you?” You can’t tell whether he’s just like this or if he’s drunk.

“He’s our brother.”

Ah. “That makes sense.”

“Wait, you speak French?” Vanya asks.

“Only on ecstasy,” he says easily. 

So high, then. You’re starting to think this family may be even more messed up than you originally believed. You extract your hand from Klaus’s, despite the fact he doesn’t seem to want to let go.

“So what can I get for you all?” You ask, pen poised above your notepad.

“You already know what I want,” Five says. You don’t bother even writing it down, policy be damned.

“I will have…” Klaus’s bright eyes search the chalkboard behind you, “… a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and an espresso. Separate, thank you. You’re paying, right, Five?”

“Goddamn freeloader.”

“You bet.” Klaus drums his hands on the countertop before leaning back with a pleased grin.

“And you, Vanya?”

Vanya’s lips quirk up in a soft smile. “Surprise me,” she says.

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Not unless you’re planning on putting cat fur in it.”

You tap your pen on your notepad after scribbling Klaus’s orders down.

“Coming right up.”

You press start on the espresso machine and watch as it dispenses dark liquid into two of the cups. You put together Klaus’s hot chocolate as you wait for the milk to steam, topping it off with fresh whipped cream and chocolate shavings. You place both his orders in front of him and he claps his hands in excitement.

“This smells _amazing_.” He takes a sip of his drink, sliding the espresso in front of the stool next to him. You wonder if they’re expecting someone else.

“Why does he get his drink first?” Five complains, “There’s literally a pot of coffee right there.”

“Because he’s nice. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

Klaus laughs into his hot chocolate, getting whipped cream on his face. “Oh, burn.”

Five shoots you a dirty look and you decide to give him his drink last because, well, you can. And you want to see if his face will stick like that if he keeps his murderous expression for too long. 

The milk beeps when it’s ready. You take the pitcher and tilt the cup away from it. You pour the milk into the cup, gradually getting closer to the surface and gently shifting the pitcher from side to side before cutting through. Gingerly, you place it on a saucer and set it in front of Vanya.

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful.”

You smile as she admires the floral design. “I’m glad you like it, I’ve been needing to practice. We’re technically not supposed to offer this because it takes up too much time when it’s busy. I haven’t made one in a while.”

“Impressive,” Five comments, “Now can I get my goddamn coffee?”

You cluck your tongue at him. “Patience is a virtue.”

“So is keeping all your fingers.”

“Touchy.” You laugh as you ready his cup. “Is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Klaus says.

“No,” Vanya says.

“There’s no reason to lie to the poor waitress,” Klaus says, leaning on his hand with a lazy smile, “I presume she’s already met him.”

“I’m a barista, actually. Not a waitress.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I get paid more. But they make more tips. And you know, work at a restaurant instead of a coffee shop.”

Klaus waves a hand dismissively. “Semantics, semantics.”

You shake your head in amusement as you place Five’s cup in front of him. He smiles at you in a way that you think is supposed to be cheery, but it just makes him look like he wants to attack you. Which, you think, he probably does.

“Can I get another one?” Klaus asks.

“How the hell did you drink that so quickly?”

He grins. “I guess I’m just that talented.” He winks at you, but you just roll your eyes and start making another hot chocolate.

“How long have you been working here?” Five asks. You finish dolloping Klaus’s drink with whipped cream before answering.

“Well,” you say, turning around, “I’ve worked at this specific coffee shop for six years, but before that I worked at the Starbucks on campus at my university.”

You swap Klaus’s empty cup with a new one.

“What college did you go to?” Vanya asks.

“NYU. I majored in business.”

“Sounds boring.” Vanya shoots Klaus a warning glare.

“What?” He says, “It’s true!”

“You’re right,” you agree, “It was boring. But I wanted to make sure I had a degree in something I could use. Not that it really matters, we’re probably going into another nuclear war or something.”

Five snorts into his coffee and Klaus has to hit him on the back to stop him from choking.

“Well,” Five says, “With any luck, the world won’t end anytime soon.”

“We can hope.”

“What’s your favorite drink here?” Klaus asks. He even says it politely and you decide he’s your favorite brother despite the, well, ecstasy. At least _he_ doesn’t threaten you with a butter knife.

“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” you say, leaning on the counter, “Right now, I’m a big fan of vanilla cold brew with two pumps of strawberry.”

“You do know it’s forty degrees out, right?” Five says.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

You twist your back and a series of cracks run up your spine. You groan and mentally berate yourself for not going to pilates. And then you mentally berate yourself again because oh God you’re turning into your mother.

Five chugs the rest of his coffee. You mildly disapprove of the way he refuses to savor his coffee.

Five’s seat screeches against the floor as he gets up. “Klaus, I need your help with our project.”

“What project? What the hell are you talking about?”

Five’s back is to you so you can’t see his face, but you can imagine the death glare he’s giving Klaus right now.

“OH right- that project! Of course, why didn’t you say anything?” He laughs awkwardly, eyes darting between you and Five.

Five scoffs before tossing a twenty on the counter and leaving with Klaus in tow.

“Subtle,” you comment, “Are they always like that?”

Vanya sighs. “Unfortunately.” She takes another sip of her latte.

“Suddenly, I’m glad I’m an only child.”

She laughs at that. “You should be, brothers are more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Do you just have brothers?”

“No, I have a sister too. We don’t talk much, even when Five makes us have ‘family time’. She’s kinda self absorbed, but she’s been trying more lately.”

“Well, that’s her loss then.” Vanya cracks a smile and a lightness envelops your chest.

“How have you been?” Vanya asks. She wraps her hands around her latte to warm them.

You stifle a yawn into your sleeve and mentally berate yourself for waking up at six every day.

“I’ve been good. I started working on a new project.”

“What kind of project?”

“I’m crocheting a sweater; it’s a pretty open stitch so hopefully I can get it done quickly.”

“Wow, you can crochet?”

You nod. “I also knit, but I prefer crocheting. It’s a lot faster.”

“Sounds soothing.”

“It is, I use it to wind down in the evenings. It’s nice to be able to do something with my hands and see the result, you know?”

“I wish I could do that,” Vanya says wistfully, “I feel like none of that stuff works for me. I can never really relax.”

“You could always try journaling,” you suggest, “Or you can come by my apartment and I’ll teach you to crochet.” She flushes at your offer. For a moment, you think she’s going to refuse, but then her expression relaxes into a small smile.

“Okay,” she says, “That’d be nice.”

“I’ll pick out a pattern and everything, it’ll be easy. I promise.”

“It better be. I’m not very talented when it comes to stuff like that.”

“Hey,” you say, poking her wrist with your finger, “Yes you are. It just takes practice.”

“Yeah,” she says, “Maybe.”

She finishes the rest of her coffee, but makes no move to get up. You relax into the counter, studying the way the light illuminates her eyes and the small freckles on her nose.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Vanya looks confused by your question.

“Blue, I guess. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Vanya’s eyes glitter. “What’s yours?”

“I mean, I’m always a sucker for jewel tones. What’s your favorite scent?”

“Do you ask all your customers random questions?”

“Only my favorites.”

Vanya definitely blushes at that.

“It’s vanilla. What’s your favorite animal?”

You smile and answer.

***

Vanya stays in her seat as you clean up, sign flipped on the door to displace the CLOSED side. She sips on a new mocha latte. This one had a rose drawn in the foam. You don’t want to make her get up as you mop, so you do your best to mop around her stool. What is your boss going to do— fire you? As if.

You tie the last of the garbage bags and carry them to the dumpster. Vanya is still waiting for you when you come back, cup empty. You take it and rinse it out, placing it on the drying rack.

“Be careful,” you warn as the two of you start walking out, “The floor is still slipp-”

Vanya’s legs slide out from underneath her and she hits the ground. Hard.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You ask, trying to hold back your laughter as she groans. You’re unsuccessful.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she grumbles and you laugh even harder. Eventually, Vanya joins in too. You try to help her up, but keep failing because your muscles are weak from laughter.

“It’s not even that funny!” She protests.

“It really IS that funny!”

Vanya doesn’t have a clever response to that, so she dissolves into giggles once more. You pull her to her feet once your muscles agree to cooperate.

“This is what you get for wearing shoes with no traction.”

“I wasn’t expecting to go ice skating when I got dressed this morning,” she says dryly.

“You should be prepared for all types of weather, Vanya.”

She laughs at you and you see a glimmer of something new in her eye. She’s still clutching your hand like she’s going to fall again, even as the two of you leave and lock the door behind you. 

“I’m this way. You?”

You can see the second she realizes she’s still holding your hand. She drops it like a burning coal, shoving her hands back in jacket pockets.

“Me too,” Vanya says.

The two of you walk side by side in the cool night air. The sun set hours ago, leaving the city to be illuminated solely by street lamps and oncoming cars. It’s a soft sort of darkness, the kind where the fog lowers into the city. It winds throughout the streets, reflecting the streetlights until everything is an unfocused gray.

“It’s so nice when it’s nighttime,” you say wistfully. You wish you could see the stars beyond the light pollution in the city.

“Yeah,” Vanya says after a quiet moment, “It really is.”

“Do you always walk home by yourself?” She asks.

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting mugged?”

You snort. “Of course I am, I’m not an idiot. But I can’t really afford a car payment right now. And I always carry my pepper spray and a knife on me.”

She laughs. “I wouldn’t want to take you in a fight.”

You turn your face towards her and grin. “It’s all an act; I’m pretty sure you could knock me out in one punch.”

“I doubt that,” she says, wrapping her jacket around her, “I’m small. I’m more of a liability than anything.”

You don’t believe those words are her own.

“Even small people can be deadly,” you shrug, “You could be like, a Brown Recluse spider or something.”

“Wow, thanks,” she says dryly, “From now on I’ll just tell people I’m a gross insect.”

“Arachnid, actually.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” she says.

“I know.”

You stop when you reach your building.

“This is me,” you say regretfully.

Vanya chews on her lip for a moment before offering you a soft smile.

“Don’t stay up too late crocheting,” she teases.

“I promise.” You give her a Boy Scout salute and she laughs. As she starts to walk away, something in your chest makes you call out after her.

“You should come by tomorrow afternoon,” you say, “My days are always better when you’re there.”

Vanya looks at you in surprise. “Mine are too,” she says, “And I promise to actually show up this time.”

“You better.” You laugh and open the door, warm air rushing out to greet you.

“And if you wanted to teach me how to crochet properly, I wouldn’t be opposed.” Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and she’s stubbornly looking two feet to the right of your head.

The amusement on your face settles into a warm happiness. “I’m free after work. I think I have some extra yarn up in my apartment.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Have a good evening, Vanya.”

She smiles with warmth evident on her face. Through the window, you can see her retracing your path through the city, presumably heading towards her own apartment.

You trace your own path up to your apartment, dropping your purse by the door. On a whim, you open the door to your yarn cabinet and pull out a few skeins. You settle on a fingering weight dull blue, soft enough to go with anything. It’s enough to make a hat or a scarf. You think it will contrast nicely with the gray-blue flecks around her iris.

You don’t stay up too late that evening, barely managing to do anything except eat cold pizza. You crochet with your cat in your lap until you’re warm and tired. Your project drops to the floor as you fall asleep to the sounds of a Netflix nature documentary. When you sleep, you dream of nothing but a soft warmth and the scent of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas, thanks for the nice comments on the last chapter :-) Hope you enjoyed Klaus in this chapter.


	4. Hazel & Cha-Cha

Your other job is closed on Sundays, so you’re at the coffee shop all day. It’s not that bad, even when your coworker goes on break halfway through the After Church Rush— seriously Sydney, dick move. You lean on the counter and heave out a sigh once the rush is over and Sydney is clocked out. Only a couple people remain. You’re just thankful the shop closes early on Sundays. You just have to make it through a couple hours and you can go home and relax.

The doorbell rings and you glance up from your duties. Setting the coffee cups on the drying rack, you plaster a smile on your face.

“Hello! How may I help you?”

The man gazes at the bakery display cases.

“Do you happen to have any donuts?” He asks hopefully.

“I’m afraid we don’t,” you apologize, “But we do have fried cinnamon buns if you would be interested in that.”

He perks up at your suggestion. “I’ll have an order of those, please.” You smile at him swiftly and move to pick up the tongs. You place four of the warm buns into a wax-lined bag. You’re not usually a fan of fried food, but even you are tempted by them.

“Here you go!” You say, placing the bag on the counter, “Anything else for you guys?”

“I could go for a Mocha,” the woman says.

“Would you like whipped cream on top?”

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll take a medium black coffee,” the man adds.

“May I have names for your orders?”

“Hazel,” the man says.

“Cha-Cha.”

“How do you spell that?” You ask, sharpie poised above your notepad.

The woman sighs. “C H A hyphen C H A.”

You paste your customer service smile on. “They’ll be out in just a minute.”

The man nods and the two of them take a seat at the counter. You tune out their hushed conversation as you fix their drinks.

You refill the espresso beans in the machine and press start. You mix in two pumps of chocolate syrup and top it off with steamed milk. The smell of the chocolate alone is sickly sweet, but blends nicely with the bitterness of the coffee. Setting it on the counter, you pour drip coffee into a medium cup and place them both on the counter.

“Alrighty, that’ll be twelve dollars and sixty-three cents.”

The woman grumbles as she pays and refuses a receipt when you offer one. The minute you turn your back, they resume their conversation. You get the feeling it’s meant to be private.

“I just don’t get it, Hazel,” she says, “Why the hell can’t we find him? It’s like he’s invisible or some shit.”

“We’ve already had this conversation—”

You try not to listen to their conversation, but it’s difficult in the quiet shop.

“Oh yeah? Well I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

“I’m telling you, this is all a set up. There’s no way the commission would send us after him twice. They’re just trying to get rid of us.”

You really don’t want to be caught up in a gang war, so you force yourself to stop eavesdropping. This city really is a train wreck. Not for the first time, you contemplate moving out into the middle of the country.

The doorbell rings, but it’s just the rest of the church-goers leaving.

“Have a nice day!” You call after them.

They ignore you. The door clicks shut and then it’s just you and the mob couple left in the store. You really hope the mob isn’t going to start using the coffee shop as a meeting point. That sounds like it would be bad for your health. And despite the enormity of your student loans, you would actually like to live long enough to pay them off.

It’s even harder to ignore their conversation when it’s only the three of you in the shop.

“I’m just saying, Five is trickier than we thought.”

Wait.

You fumble with the ceramic coffee cup in your hands.

Five?

You hope you misheard that. Or that he was referring to the number rather than the person.

Besides, you think, that’s ridiculous. Why the fuck would a gang member be after a prepubescent boy. Your heart rate starts to settle down as you rationalize what you heard. It’s a coincidence, you tell yourself. At least, you hope it is.

You start to think you imagined hearing it when they don’t mention his name again.

Yeah, you think, definitely a coincidence.

They leave after a tense fifteen minutes once they finish their drinks. You breathe a sigh of relief once they’re gone and you wipe down the counter where they had sat. Your pulse slowly descends back to its normal level in the absence of any shocking revelations.

The doorbell rings and you jolt. You look up and relax into a smile.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Vanya looks sheepish as she takes a seat. “Well,” she says, “I try not to break a promise twice.”

“Besides,” she adds once she’s settled on her stool, “I really want to learn how to crochet.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Can I get you anything since you’re here?”

“You pick,” she says, “You know what’s good.”

“I should hope I’m at least semi-semi-competent after six years of this,” you say dryly. You don’t bother picking your notepad up.

As you mix cold brew concentrate into ice water, you wonder if there’s a delicate way to ask if her brother is involved with the mob. No, you think as you stir in vanilla syrup, there really isn’t. You add milk and give it a swirl before sliding the cup in front of Vanya.

“I hope you’re in a cold-drink mood.”

Her eyes widen as she takes a sip.

“This is really good,” she says, “I didn’t even know I liked cold brew.”

“See? Now I just have to convert your brothers, so they’ll stop giving me shit for it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind them. Klaus just likes to tease and Five— well. That’s just his personality.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something about Five,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah? What about?”

You hesitate. It is kind of ridiculous, you realize, to imagine that a young boy from a seemingly well-off family would have the mob after him. Maybe you’re just paranoid from too many crime novels. Yeah, that’s probably it.

“…I was just wondering what his deal is with black coffee.”

“Our father didn’t like to have caffeine in the house. Said it was bad for us, or something. And Five doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

“I can imagine,” you say dryly, “Are you and your father close?”

Vanya snorts and her fingers tense around her cup. “Not at all. None of us were. His death is the one thing that brought my siblings and I together.”

You blink. “Well, at least you have that in common.”

“Yeah, at least we have that.” She’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “The only kind thing he ever did was give me my first violin. I don’t even know why he did it.”

“Maybe he wanted you to be happy.”

Vanya lets out a wry laugh. Her fingers furl and unfurl. “I doubt that. He was a pretty shitty adoptive father.”

“Oh. Are all of you guys adopted?”

“Yes,” she says, “We have the same birthday too.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” she says after a moment, “I guess it is.”

“Did you ever try to find your birth parents?”

“I thought about once or twice. But in the end, she was just a scared teenager who didn’t want a child. There’s no point in contacting her.”

Your mouth twists down in a frown as you lean against the counter. You think of a small child who only wanted love and never found it. You think of yourself at that age and imagine what life would have been like in the absence of loving parents. Your chest starts to ache.

“You deserved better than that.”

“We don’t always get what we deserve.”

“No,” you say, “I guess we don’t.”

The doorbell rings and another customer comes in. To your relief, it’s not either of the mob pair from earlier. Even worse, they’re tourists. You put their orders together and they go to sit at one of the tables in the corner.

“So how has your day been?” She asks.

She still has an unhappy slant to her mouth, but you can tell she doesn’t want to talk any further about her father. You let it drop.

“Not much. Woke up, fed my cat, went to work. I’ve been here since seven.”

“You have a cat?”

“Yes,” you say, face brightening, “His name is Princess.”

“… Why?”  
You shrug sheepishly. “I got him from my parents and they thought he was a girl. By the time we figured it out, the name already stuck.”

Vanya laughs. “I’m sure he’s a very pretty princess.”

“He is.” You pull out your phone and scroll through your photos to show her. She coos at the photo.

“I wish I wasn’t allergic.”

“I’ll get you some allergy meds for this evening.”

“Thanks.”

You put your phone back in your pocket. Technically, it’s not supposed to leave your bag when you’re at work. But you don’t really care at this point.

“What have you been up to today?” You ask.

“Not much, I just finished up with a violin lesson.”

“You teach?”

She nods. “It’s mostly twelve year olds, so it’s not that difficult.”

“I feel like it’d be difficult to listen to.”

She cracks a smile at that. “Sometimes. The girl I had today is a prodigy.”

“All due to her teacher, I’m sure.” You rest against the counter, propped up on your elbows.

Vanya flushes. “Not entirely due to me,” she corrects, “She has a natural talent.”

“Sure,” you say, “But natural talent only gets you so far. You can only become so good without practicing.”

Vanya takes a sip of her drink. “I’ve seen that a lot. It’s sad how a lot of students quit lessons when they get older and forget how to play.”

“Yeah,” you say, thinking of your cello sitting abandoned in your parents’ attic, “It’s sad.”

You glance down and note Vanya’s empty cup. “Do you want another one or something new?”

“Hmm,” she says, considering, “I’ll try something new. Surprise me.”

“That’s a lot of power to give to me.”

“I’ll trust you not to let it go to your head.”

“I’ll do my best.”

You take her cup and empty it out and ready the espresso machine. Something warm, you think. You put a touch of steamed milk in the coffee and top it off with whipped cream. Technically, it’s supposed to have milk foam, but no one really wants that. 

“One cappuccino,” you say, sliding the drink in front of her.

The two of you pass the rest of your shift by trading stories in between customers and drinks. Sooner than you expected, it was time to flip the sign and start cleaning.

“Can I help at all?” Vanya asks.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure I could get in trouble just for letting you stay here after hours.”

“Good thing they don’t have cameras.”

You snort. “I would have been fired a long time ago if they had cameras.”

Sweeping and mopping doesn’t take too long. Not for the first time, you wish your boss invested in a goddamn vacuum. You finish up the dishes and set them on the drying rack.

“Alright,” you say once you dumb the garbage out back, “Are you ready to go?”

“I am,” she says, “But I hope you don’t expect me to be good at crocheting.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you walk out the door. You make sure to lock the door behind you before pocketing your keys.

“Oh, hush,” you say, “You’re going to be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, actually.”

Vanya makes a soft sound of amusement at that. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?”

“I’m pretty sure you did, like, yesterday.”

“That doesn’t count,” she protests, “I say it lovingly.”

“Oh, you love me now?” You tease, “Five is going to be so happy to hear about it.”

Vanya flushes a dark, dark red and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Relax, man,” you say easily, “I’m just messing around.”

She’s silent for a moment and you watch as she visibly pulls herself together.

“You really are ridiculous,” she says finally.

“Perhaps,” you answer.

The two of you reach your apartment within minutes and you reach into your purse for your keys. There’s a moment of panic when you can’t find them before you realize they’re in your pocket where you put them. Goddammit. You unlock the door and walk into the lobby.

“So I picked out a pattern for you,” you say as you walk into the elevator, “It’s a really simple scarf, just one stitch the whole way through.” You press the button to take you up to your floor.

“That sounds good,” she says, “I don’t really know what I’m doing anyway.”

“Don’t worry, I’m starting you off easy.”

The elevator dings and the two of you step off. Once inside your apartment, you drop your purse by the door.

“You can just hang your stuff here if you want, all the—” You’re cut off by a very loud, very disgruntled meow.

Princess darts his way towards the door, but you slam it closed before he can run out into the hallway.

“Sorry,” you say to Vanya, “He’s a little escape artist.”

“I can see that,” she says dryly as he winds himself around her ankles. She reaches down to pet him and sneezes.

“Oh! Let me get you allergy meds.” You swing into the bathroom and rifle through your medicine cabinet. You find a mostly full bottle of Zyrtec in the back and grab it.

“Here,” you say, depositing the pill bottle in Vanya’s hand, “I can get you water if you need it.”

“No, it’s fine.” She dry swallows one and screws the cap back on. “Thanks.”

You take the bottle from her. “No problem. We can crochet in the living room by the way, I’m just going to get supplies.”

You lead her to your sofa and let her get settled while you get yarn and crochet hooks. You snag your project bag and swing it over your shoulder before returning to your guest. She’s resting on the edge of the sofa, eyes gazing around the room.

“You’re allowed to touch stuff, you know,” you say dryly, “This isn’t a museum.”

“I know. It just didn’t seem polite.”

“You don’t have to worry about being polite. Promise.”

You hand her a crochet hook and the dull blue yarn you picked out yesterday.

“Alright, so you start with a slip knot—” You show her how to get started and she slowly picks it up on her own. Her hands are clumsy at first, but you don’t remember being any better when you first started.

You pull out your project and continue working on the left sleeve.

“See!” You say, “You’re doing great.”

Vanya snorts. “Yeah,” she says, “My single chain is so much more impressive than your sweater.”

“Oh, hush. I just have more practice. I can guarantee you’re better at the violin than me too.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. Practice makes perfect.”

Vanya gestures at her slightly lumpy chain. “More like practice makes slightly less terrible.”

“Whatever keeps you going.”

Vanya bites back a huff of laughter and continues to painstakingly work on her scarf.

After a half an hour, you yawn and push your project to the side.

“Do you want to watch something?”

Vanya shrugs. “Sure.”

You stand up and stretch before grabbing the remote off of the entertainment center. You switch from a cooking show you’ve never seen before to Netflix.

Vanya north when she sees your recently watched. “Ocean documentaries? Really?”

“Hey!” You protest, “They’re cool.”

“There are like six different ones in your queue.”

“This is harassment.”

Vanya keeps laughing even after you toss a skein of yarn at her. It bounces harmlessly to the ground.

“Fine,” you grumble, “What do you want to watch?”

“I’m fine with nature documentaries. Just no weird sea creatures.”

“No promises.”

You regretfully bypass most of your queue and put on one about animals in Alaska.

“Do you think it’s legal to adopt an arctic fox?” You wonder out loud.

“Probably not in America.”

“Our government is the worst.”

“I mean, you could always support one in your name or something.”

“It’s not the same, I want to pet one. I bet Princess would be friends with it.”

Vanya lets out a soft huff of laughter and the two of you pick your projects back up. Princess wanders into the living room and you have to shoo him away from your yarn. He gives you a reproachful look.

“Don’t look me like that,” you tell him. Princess turns tail and rubs up against Vanya instead.

“Don’t let him at the yarn,” you warn.

“But he’s so cute.”

“He’s a little monster.”

Princess rolls on his back and looks back at you as if to say ‘Who, me?’.

Vanya pets his belly until he gets annoyed and bats at her.

“See?”

“He’s still cute.”

“Unfortunately, he knows it.”

Vanya tries to pet him one more time and he runs out of the room.

“Rude,” she says.

She fiddles with her crochet needle before catching sight of your progress.

“How do you do that so quickly?” Vanya asks, aghast.

You shrug. “It comes with time. You’ll be able to do this too, if you keep practicing.” You look pointedly at her abandoned project.

“I just needed a break, promise.”

“Uh huh.”

Vanya opens her mouth to protest, but you shove your project to the side before she can speak.

“Do you wanna get food? I have takeout menus in the entry table.”

“Oh, you don’t have to order anything for me.”

“Vanya,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I’m ordering for you. Now woman-up and tell me what you want, or I’m ordering us both sushi.”

“That actually sounds really good.”

“Really?” Sweet. “I’ll get us menus.”

You retrieve them from the stack of bills they’re shoved under and bring them back to Vanya. When you get back, you’re pleased to see she’s curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her.

“Sorry, I was cold.”

“Generally, that’s what they are there for. You don’t have to apologize for everything, Vanya.”

“Sorry.”

You give her a look and she cracks a wry smile.

“Okay, I’ll try to stop.”

You grin at her. “Good. Now pick out a sushi roll.”

She catches the menu as you toss it to her and she spends the next few minutes going through it.

“Do you want to look too?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I’m good. I’m pretty sure I have it memorized by now.” Actually, you’re positive you’ve memorized it by now. God, you need to start cooking more often.

She smiles softly and continues to peruse the menu.

“The rainbow roll sounds good to me.”

You snap out of your thoughts.

“Good choice.” You go to their contact in your phone— you _really_ need to stop getting takeout— and hit the call button. It rings for a moment before picking up. You place Vanya’s order and request a dynamite roll for yourself.

“They’ll be here in 25 minutes,” you say after you hang up the phone.

You collapse down into your chair, swinging your legs over the arm.

“Okay, you have to promise me something.”

Vanya looks at you oddly. “What?”

“Just promise.”

“… Okay, I promise.”

“You can’t laugh at me because I can’t use chopsticks.”

Vanya’s face cracks into a smile even as she tries to smother it.

“You promised!”

Vanya tries to stifle her laughter but, fails. “How do you not know how to use chopsticks?”

“I just never learned how! People try to teach me, but it never clicks.”

“I’m going to teach you.”

“Oh God, please don’t do that.”

“I’m going to do it,” Vanya insists.

“Vanya, I am hopeless. Just accept it.”

“I can’t do that. If you can teach me how to crochet, I can teach you to use two wooden sticks to pick up food.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“Hey,” Vanya protests, “That’s my line.”

The two of you dissolve into laughter and you feel like you’re in college again, staying awake so late that everything is funny.

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you wanna live?”

Vanya tilts her head to the side, finger tapping on the arm of the sofa. “Maybe Maine. I love the ocean, but I don’t want it to get too warm.”

You laugh. “Anywhere in the world, and you choose Maine? You can live in _any_ country.”

Vanya shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I’d prefer to stay close to what family I have left. Things seem to be getting better ever since Five came back.”

“What do you mean? ‘Came back’?” The question had been plaguing you for a while, but you didn’t want to ask.

“It’s… complicated. Our family is really messed up.”

You really want to say ‘I can tell’, but decide against it. “A lot of families are, I think.”

“Yeah, maybe. But on a scale of one to ten, we’re like a one hundred.” 

“Yeah,” you say, laughing, “Maybe you are.”

“Where would you want to live?” Vanya asks, “Anywhere in the world.”

You hum for a minute. “I don’t know, maybe Italy? I’d like the wine and the food.”

Vanya huffs a breath of laughter. “Fair enough.”

The two of you pass the time with random questions until the doorbell rings.

“Sushi time!” You say, sliding to your feet. Princess races you to the door and you wedge yourself in the doorway so he can’t get out.

The delivery man gives you a weird look, but doesn’t question it when you tip him 30%.

“Have a good evening,” you say with hands full of plastic bags.

“You too.”

You close the door once he leaves and hum happily to yourself.

“Hey Vanya, do you want water?” You call from the doorway.

“Sure.”

You enter the kitchen and Princess mews at you from on top of the refrigerator. “How the fuck did you get up there? Get down!” You scold him. He doesn’t listen.

You roll your eyes and fill up two cups with water. You snag a fork from the kitchen drawer before going back into the living room.

“Our feast awaits.” You hand her the rainbow roll container and a pair of chopsticks.

You start to eat yours when Vanya starts laughing.

“I promised I could teach you, here—” She snatches the fork out of your hands before you can protest.

“Vanya, I promise you— you cannot.”

“At least let me try so I’ll feel better.”

You sigh. “Fine,” you say.

She demonstrates with her hand and poses the chopsticks in yours. You look at her with a dry expression as you fail to pick up a piece for the sixth time.

“Okay,” she says, “Maybe you are hopeless.”

“Told you.”

She laughs and hands you back your fork. “Here’s your consolation prize.”

“Ah, it’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

You take the fork and immediately stuff a piece into your mouth. God, you love sushi so much. You wonder how expensive it would be to learn to make it on your own. You mentally mark that on your to-do list sometime in the future.

“Okay, the world ends in four days, what do you do with the time you have left?” You ask through a mouth full of sushi.

Vanya swallows before she answers because she’s not an animal like you. “Tough one,” she says, contemplating, “I’d probably go on a road trip or something.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. I like the idea of being surrounded by nature when the world ends. I don’t want to die in a city.”

“So you want to be alone for the end of the world?”

“Oh, no. I’d bring someone. Knowing Five, he’d probably drag me with the rest of the family for the end of the world.”

“He does have a strong personality.”

“You cannot even imagine.”

“Where would you go?” Vanya asks, taking another bite of sushi.

“With friends, probably. I wouldn’t want to be alone at the end.”

“You can come with me when Five kidnaps me from my apartment for the apocalypse.”

“It’s a date,” you say dryly.

“He’s broken into my apartment before, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“He’s done _what_?”

“He climbed in through the windows while I was gone and waited for me to get home.”

“No offense, but Five is the weirdest kid I’ve ever met.”

Vanya laughs softly. “Yeah, he really is. He told me to lock my windows next time because, and I quote, ‘rapists can climb’.”

“That’s so fucking creepy.”

“I know.”

“I’m so glad I don’t have siblings.”

“They’re pretty overrated.”

You try to shove another piece of sushi in your mouth and scoop up nothing but air. Looking down in disappointment, you note that it’s all gone. Damn.

You get up to refill your water. By the time you come back, Vanya is done too.

“I guess I should go back home,” she says regretfully, “I still have to go grocery shopping.”

“Take your scarf with you,” you say, “You can always return the crochet hook later.”

Vanya hesitates. “Are you sure?” She asks.

“Absolutely,” you say as youhand it to her, “Now you have to come back.” She laughs at that.

You make sure to shove your project back in your bag before you stand up and walk her to the door.

“Thank you so much for everything, I had a lot of fun.”

You smile. “I’m glad. I’m always here if you want to watch weird nature documentaries and eat sushi.”

Vanya laughs at that. “I’ll be sure and call.”

She slings her bag over her shoulder and shifts awkwardly. She opens her mouth to say something, but you dart in and hug her before she can say anything.

“Be sure and visit me at work,” you say after you let her go. Her face is flushed pink.

“I will,” she promises. She flashes you a grin before she leaves.

You close the door behind her and sing to yourself as you clean up after the two of you. You feel tired, but pleasantly so. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone new and you feel re-energized by it. Vanya is fun to be around, you think. You hope she’ll come around more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed even though this is super long. Consistent chapter length is for suckers.


	5. Diego

Your legs are still sore next time you’re at the shop and all you really want to do is go home so you can rest. Then you realize you need to go grocery shopping after work because there’s literally no food in your house. You’re barely able to stop yourself from groaning out loud when you remember. God, you wish you didn’t have to work two different work schedules.

The doorbell rings and you look up to see a familiar face.

“Back so soon,” you say, “I feel special.”

Klaus grins at you. “You should. It’s not every day Five makes a buddy.”

“I wouldn’t really say we’re buddies so much as sometimes he shows up in the evenings and sets me up with your sister.”

He shrugs as he takes a seat. “Semantics.”

“So you’re Vanya’s new friend, huh?” The other man asks. You turn to him and wonder if he’s another sibling you haven’t met yet, or if he’s Klaus’s sugar daddy.

“Yep.” You hope you’re friends, at least.

“Good luck with that. My sister can be difficult to deal with.”

So, brother, then. Maybe he just has a thing for leather.

“From what I’ve heard, the rest of your family can be difficult to deal with too.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “Just watch yourself around her.”

You raise an eyebrow at his tone, but let it go. “Can I get anything for you two today?”

Klaus lets out a gleeful sound. “Yes please! I’ll have a large hot chocolate and…” his eyes scan the bakes good display, “A cinnamon roll.”

“In a sugar mood, I see,” you say, writing his order down on your notepad.

“Aren’t I always?”

“Your heart is going to give out,” the other man says.

Klaus laughs. “It’s going to give out from a lot of other stuff before sugar.”

The man lets out a long suffering sigh.

“Can I get anything for you, sir?”

“Just a medium coffee. Two sugars.”

“Hey!” Klaus interjects, “How come Diego gets called sir and I don’t?”

“Because I know you.”

Klaus sniffs. “Doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

You force yourself not to roll your eyes. You need this job, you tell yourself.

“My apologies, sir,” you say dryly.

Klaus preens. “Thank you.”

You huff a breath of laughter before readying their orders. You fill a ceramic mug with hot chocolate and top it off with whipped cream. Sliding the cup in front of Klaus, you fill another with drip coffee and stir in two sugar packets.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Diego drawls. You glance briefly over the scars on the side of his head and wonder how he got them. Then you realize that it’s none of your business and force yourself to turn away. You put one of the cinnamon buns on a plate and put it in front of Klaus.

“Have you seen Vanya lately?” Klaus asks through a mouthful of cinnamon roll, “She hasn’t been to the house since Five made us all go bowling.”

“She actually came by yesterday.”

Klaus pouts. “She should’ve taken me. I was in an espresso mood.”

“We actually went to my apartment,” you say, resting against the cool countertop, “And I cannot imagine you on caffeine.”

“You don’t want to see it,” Diego says, “Trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You push yourself back on your feet and clean up the rest of the dishes left on the counter and start cleaning off the espresso machine.

“Do you spend a lot of time with Vanya?” Diego asks.

You pause. Something in his voice sets you off.

“I wouldn’t say that. Yesterday was the first time we really hung out. Well, outside of work anyway.”

“I’d be careful with her if I were you.”

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?”

“Hey,” Klaus interjects, glancing nervously at Diego, “Aren’t we all supposed to be getting along? Isn’t that why Five keeps forcing us to go to family dinners?”

“Five isn’t here now, is he?”

“Still, it’s not very nice to talk about someone who isn’t here.”

Diego turns to glare at Klaus. “So now you’re on her side? After what she did to you? After what she did to _Ben_.”

Klaus looks like Diego poured ice water on him.

“I’m just saying,” Diego says, “She was kind of a backstabbing bitch—”

“Hey,” you snap, “Language.”

Diego snorts. “Has she even told you about her book yet?” He asks, turning his attention to you.

Your forehead wrinkles as your eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?” You get the feeling you’re missing a large part of the conversation.

“Google it. ‘My life as Number Seven’ by Vanya Hargreeves. Real page turner.”

“You’re being pissy because she wrote a fucking book?”

Diego levels a glare at you. “It’s about our family,” he finally spits out, “It’s full of lies and things that shouldn’t be shared to the general public.”

“Well,” you say, “It couldn’t have been all lies if you’re this mad about it.”

Diego grits his teeth and downs his coffee like it’s a shot of whiskey.

“See you around,” he says, dropping a ten on the table, “Mind my warning.”

He strides out in that ridiculous leather outfit and the door slams behind him. When it’s quiet again, you look at Klaus and the crumpled dollar bill lying on the table.

“You know that’s not enough to cover your order, right?”

“Don’t look at me,” he says as he takes a gulp of hot chocolate, “I don’t have money.”

You let out a drawn-out sigh and put the money in the cash register. You doubt your boss will notice a few dollars missing.

You open your mouth to ask Klaus something when he interrupts you.

“Wait,” Klaus realizes belatedly, “Diego’s my ride.”

He races out of the store, cinnamon roll clutched in one hand. The door slams behind him.

“DIEGO, WAIT!” You can hear his yell reverberate through the glass. You can’t bring yourself to smile at him running through the streets as your mind lingers on Diego’s words.

“What a dick,” you say to an empty store.

You clean up Klaus’s half-full cup and dump it in the sink. You can’t even muster up the energy to hum to yourself while you wipe down the counters.

You’re not quite sure how Vanya survived living with her family. From the members that you’ve met, they don’t seem like the most stable of people. And Diego just seems like an asshole so far. You wonder how he can be so dispassionate about the sweet girl that you’ve come to know. You wonder what parts of this story you’re missing.

Maybe you should look up her novel…

The doorbell interrupts you as a crowd of customers come in. You plaster on a smile as you help them.

It’s another hour before the stream of customers slows and the store is empty again. It’s another fifteen minutes after that before you contemplate buying Vanya’s novel online again. You pull your phone out of your bag with the vague intention of searching it on Amazon when you see a message in the work group chat.

You tap on it, idly wondering if you guys are finally getting cameras in the store. Maybe then Tiffany will stop stealing your tips out of the tip jar.

Your eyes scan the message and your day goes from bad to shitty in one fell swoop.

‘ **Hey all,** ’ your boss’s text message reads, ‘ **Just wanted to let you all know that I’m changing the hours for the store starting next Monday. We’re now going to be closing at 6 instead of 10 due to the lack of customers in the evenings. If this impacts your schedule and would like to change your hours, be sure and let me know’**.

Yeah, no shit this impacts your schedule, Kaitlyn! You realize your hands are shaking as you stare at the blurred words on the screen. Dropping your phone back in your bag, you zip it shut a tad too forcefully.

 _God_ , what are you going to do? You can still work Sundays, but that’s literally it. And your other job isn’t enough to pay rent on its own. This job may not pay as much as your other one, but it’s still leagues better than being forced back into fast food.

Fuck, you think, you’re going to have to go job hunting. Or find a roommate.

You fume silently at your boss for not telling you earlier. And then at the city for having such expensive housing. And then at the fact that you already have negative time to yourself and now you’re going to have to dedicate most of it towards finding a new job.

Once the anger passes, you’re left with a deep seated exhaustion.

You pass the rest of your shift on autopilot between cleaning up and helping customers. You don’t quite remember closing. It’s one of those days where the hours tick by in a blur and you only manage to tune in when the sign is flipped and the door is locked.

It’s colder than usual, you realize once you’re outside. You hope it snows.

Fuck, you also realize, you still have to go shopping. It’s too late to go to Target, so you stop by the Walmart a few blocks away from your apartment. You blink at the harsh florescent lighting as you grab a cart. You’re walking home so you can’t really afford to get too much heavy stuff, so you limit yourself to basic groceries. Just to fill your fridge until you can do a proper store run.

You’re doing fairly well at sticking to your list. At least, until you pass by the book section.

Once again, the thought slips into your head like a cold that won’t die.

You go deeper into the aisle. There, sitting on top of the bargain book pile, you find it.

 _Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven_.

You stare into the younger face of a woman you think is becoming your friend. You wonder what possible secrets she could have unveiled to make her brother hate her that much. Perhaps it would be better to wait, you think, to let her tell you in her own time.

Against your better judgment, you put it in your shopping cart.

It’s nearly midnight when you finish shopping and check out. It _is_ snowing, you realize as you exit the building. Fat flakes fall without landing, swirling through the air like a snow globe.

You like the snow, you admit as you trudge towards your apartment. But not so much the day after when the roads are slippery and walkways filled with slush. You really need to get better boots.

Princess almost manages to knock you over when you reach your apartment.

“No, buddy,” you say as you slam the door shut in his face. He looks up at you and if he was a human, you would say he was pouting.

You set your bag by the door and force yourself to put the perishables in the fridge. You’re too drained to even imagine making dinner, so you eat a sleeve of crackers as you get ready for bed.

You remember your new purchase as you’re about to get in bed and despite the bone deep weariness encompassing your body, you get up to dig it out of the grocery bag. Settling back in your room, you crack open the cover and start to read.

By the time you finish, there’s only a few hours until your morning alarm. You close the book with a busy mind and heavy heart. That family is way more fucked up than you realized. Your heart aches a little for what these children went through. You realize now why Diego hates Vanya for writing it.

Oh fuck. Vanya. You wonder how you’re going to bring up the fact that you read her book. Then you wonder how you’re going to bring up the whole ‘holy fuck, your family are superheroes?’ thing. Actually, you probably should have made that connection, you think to yourself as you turn off your lights.

There’s a lot of things you need to ask her now, you realize once you’re almost asleep. Dozens of questions surface in your brain at the slightest provocation. Would it be rude to ask? Or would it be more impolite to gloss over the fact that you read her book? Should you have read it in the first place without first bringing it up with Vanya?

God, you think, is this how philosophers feel all the time?

Despite pondering the implications of your own morality, you manage to fall asleep. You dream of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter next week because I won't be in the country, sorry fellas.


	6. Luther & Allison

You’re exhausted the next morning. Despite the triple shot of espresso you put in your coffee, you feel as if you could fall asleep standing up. It’s all you can do to make yourself go to work. At least you don’t have to go to the coffee shop this evening. Unfortunately for your sleep schedule, you do still have class.

“You’re in late today,” Sasha comments from behind her desk.

You stifle a yawn with the back of your hand. “Long night.”

“I can see,” she comments, “Matteo’s already in Room One. Some people showed up early, but we’re still waiting on a group of six.”

You give her a thumbs up and adjust the skirt of your dress as you walk into the classroom.

“Cutting it close there, huh,” Matteo teases.

You roll your eyes as you dump your bag by the stereo. “We still have ten minutes until class starts, shut up.”

“When I have I ever shut up?”

You shake your head and start stretching. Your muscles ache from standing around all of yesterday. You really wish your boss at the coffee shop didn’t have a thing against employees sitting.

A familiar voice calls your name and you jump to attention.

“Five?” You ask in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

He’s still wearing that schoolboy uniform that you now recognize from a group photo of them in Vanya’s novel. You wonder if he doesn’t have any other clothes or if he just feels more comfortable wearing the same thing since he was a child.

“I should say the same,”he says, eyeing you with irritated confusion.

“I work here.”

A variety of familiar and unfamiliar faces file into the classroom. You catch sight of Diego and look away with a hot spark of irritation on the back of your neck.

“Wait, you work here?” Vanya’s voice asks as she walks in the door.

“Did you guys really think I paid rent on a barista’s salary?”

A look at their blank faces answers your question.

“What did you major in?” Klaus asks.

“Business. With a minor in dance”

The three of them collectively groan.

“Well, glad we got that sorted out,” Five says dryly, “Can we dance now?”

You laugh. “Class starts soon, you guys still have a few minutes.”

You separate yourself from the group and Matteo sends you a pointed look.

“What?” You mouth.

He rolls his eyes and you get the feeling that you’re missing something.

“So you never mentioned a second job before,” Vanya prompts as she walks up behind you. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“You guys never asked.”

“Are there any other major life events you glossed over?”

You tilt your head and pretend to think. “I don’t think so. I mean, you’ve seen my apartment, so that’s like the third friendship base.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So you’ve said.”The last of the class files in through the door. “Are you ready to dance?”

“I would rather not.”

“Too bad, you already paid for this class.”

Vanya grumbles before moving over to the rest of her family. You catch sight of Five gazing at you with an inscrutable expression. He looks away when he sees you’re watching. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“So,” Matteo says, steering you by the back of your neck, “When were you going to mention that you’re friends with the fucking Umbrella Academy?”

You stare at him with an open mouth. “Uh, it’s kinda complicated.”

“Yeah no shit, it’s the Umbrella Academy! They’re famous.”

“Wellhere’s the thing, I didn’t know who they were.”

Matteo stares at you with an incredulous look. “How the hell do you not know the Umbrella Academy?”

“I’m not from here! They’re not that famous in the rest of the country.”

“Yes they are, you’re just oblivious.”

“Yeah okay, or that.”

“So how did you find out?”

“Her brother came in, and he told me to read her book…”

“And you did?” Matteo whisper-yells.

“I was curious! I didn’t know it was going to be that bad. Dude, that family is messed up as hell.”

“Literally everyone in the world knows that except you.”

“Well, at least I know now.”

“Do you know how you’re going to break it to them?”

You shrug helplessly. “I have no idea. And I’m friends with Vanya the most out of any of them. She’s met Princess and she came over to my apartment and we had dinner.”

“Oh damn,” Matteo says, “You’re fucked. And not in a good way.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Tell her soon,” he warns, “It won’t end well if you keep this shit secret.”

You sigh. “I will. But it won’t be fun.”

Matteo claps you on the shoulder. “Don’t be a pussy, you’ll live.”

“I know.” You sigh and turn to go to the front of the classroom. You see Vanya’s eyes following you and give her a half-hearted smile.

“Alright everyone,” Matteo says, clapping his hands together, “Welcome to our Beginner’s Ballroom Dancing. I’m Matteo and this is my lovely partner. Today we’ll be learning the waltz.”

As Matteo and you go through the motions of teaching class, your brain is elsewhere. You watch as everyone pairs off, eyes lingering on Vanya. The back of your mind is stressing about how exactly to bring up the fact that you know far too much about their childhood. Well, she did write the book, you think to yourself. So it’s not like it was an invasion of privacy when millions of other people did the same thing. Except for the fact that it is, because you know them in real life. You can start to understand now why Diego is so angry with Vanya.

You watch as Vanya splits off from the group to dance with Five. You grin to yourself when you see she’s not even taller than him. Part of you wants to go over and pretend to help them in an attempt to soothe your guilt, but you do have to do your job. You end up helping a couple who are having some difficulty. Despite only being near them for two minutes, you end up learning their whole life story. You’re glad to get the chance to escape when Diego knocks into you.

“Oops!” Klaus says, “Sorry.”

“No problem,” you say, rubbing your side, “You guys look like you could use some help.” It’s mostly the long-suffering look on Diego’s face that’s telling you that.

“Klaus is a terrible lead,” he complains.

“Am not!”

“If you would let me lead, maybe we’d crash into people less.”

“Absolutely not. I am a delight to dance with,” Klaus protests, “Besides, you’re too forceful when you lead. You need to learn how to be a pretty pretty princess.”

The look on Diego’s face tells you that he’s close to giving Klaus a pretty pretty black eye.

“Okay, let’s settle down,” you suggest, “Klaus, maybe you’d have an easier time if you took smaller steps.”

“I’m trying to keep up with Diego’s freakishly long legs!”

“Yeah, but he’s going backwards. Unless he absolutely trusts you, he’s not going to be traveling far when he can’t see behind him.”

“You trust me, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Diego says.

“Rude!”

“Let’s try from the top,” you suggest. You watch with a critical eye as the two of them move together. Klaus, albeit reluctantly, follows your advice and doesn’t try to steer Diego into a wall.

“Okay, you guys are doing pretty good! Diego make sure to keep your arm relaxed,” you say, fixing his elbow, “You’re not trying to keep him at arm’s length. Leave a little room between you, but ultimately this is a conversation between two people. If you keep him at arm’s length, you cut yourself off from the conversation.”

“Maybe I want to cut myself off from this conversation.”

Klaus takes his hand off Diego’s waist to swat at him.

“Don’t be mean to me in public!”

Their bickering continues and you allow yourself to roll your eyes before moving on to another couple.

Most everyone is doing well, with minor corrections from you and Matteo. It’s to be expected with such an easy dance, but you’re still grateful there aren’t any exceptionally bad dancers.

“Alright guys,” you say from the front of the classroom, “Now we’ll be learning the lady’s underarm turn. Get in your starting position and do half a box.”

You and Matteo demonstrate the steps as he counts to three.

“Then the lady will take six steps in a small circle, holding onto him with your right hand. Gentlemen, you arm goes up to allow her room to move under. You will follow her and make a small box so you end like so.”

Matteo’s hand rests on your shoulder blade when you come back together.

“Afterwards,” Mateo says, “Complete the box and continue dancing.”

“Can we see that again?” Vanya asks.

You grin at the concern in her voice. “Of course.”

The two of you demonstrate the underarm turn two more times before allowing everyone else to try it. It seems to be going well, you note as you gaze around the classroom. Your eyes land on Vanya awkwardly dancing with Five with the vague idea of checking in on them soon. Guilt stamps its way up your spine when you see Vanya’s face. You wonder how you’re going to tell her.

A loud crash startles you out of your thoughts. You watch with wide eyes as an extraordinarily large man picks his partner off the floor. They came in earlier with Vanya, you remember. Pictures of their younger faces flash in your mind, but you can’t quite remember their names…

“Are you guys okay?” You ask.

The man flushes. “Yes,” he bites out, “Sorry.”

“You should be apologizing to me, not to her,” Allison scolds, fixing her dress.

Luther, your mind supplies, flushes even darker.

“It’s alright, it happens to everyone at one time or another. What part are you guys having difficulty with?”

“Nothing,” Luther says.

“Everything,” Allison says.

Maybe you were wrong when you believed there weren’t any terrible dancers today.

“Let’s try it from the top and see where we go wrong,” you suggest.

It’s not so much that Allison and Luther are bad dancers, you realize. Allison in particular, is far from it. She really doesn’t belong in the beginners class. Luther, on the other hand, has no concept of how to use his strength delicately.

“Try to be more gentle. This isn’t a fight. Use just enough to lead her in the right direction, but not so much that she falls over.”

Luther twists his hadn’t in the grip anxiously, but follows your commands. Your face brightens as you cheer for them.

“See! You did it.”

“I guess I did.” Luther’s voice sounds surprised.

“You guys are doing great.” You watch them for a moment as they perform the underarm turn. They aren’t perfect, but you smile to yourself when Luther does significantly better. Your eyes scan the classroom for struggling partners and they’re drawn to Vanya and Five. They’re doing better than earlier, but Vanya is moving with a stilted awkwardness.

“May I cut in?” You tease, glancing at Five. You expect him to be mildly annoyed, but he looks pleased in the split second before he remembers to school his face into an expression of indifference.

“Sure,” he says, relating her from his grip. You slide into his place and take her hands as Five goes off on his own to watch.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask as you lead her into the basic step, gently rotating clockwise.

“It’s not as bad as I expected,” she admits.

“You expected it to be bad?”

“I mean, dancing ins’t usually my thing.”

“Then what’s ‘your thing’? And you can’t say violin.”

Vanya opens and closes her mouth.

“You have zero other hobbies outside violin? You’re not good at anything else?”  
“Well,” she says, “I do like to swim. And I’ve been practicing my crochet.”

Your face brightens. “See! And soon, you will like to dance.”

You lead her into an underarm turn and note that she’s significantly more graceful now.

“I could maybe get used to this,” she admits.

“You did seem a little stiff earlier.”

Vanya blushes. “Maybe I’m just more comfortable with you.”

You won’t be for long, you want to say. You should tell her. You need to tell her. But you really don’t want to have that conversation. It’s not that big a deal if you don’t tell her, your brain tries to argue, it’s not like you’re lying to her face.

Except, you kind of are.

“I’m not sure what it says about Five that you prefer a woman you met like two weeks ago over him.”

“I’m not really sure either.”

“Hey, I have something to tell you,” you hear yourself say.

Vanya’s face freezes. “What?”

‘I read your book’, you open your mouth to say, but Matteo pulls you away before you can.

“Alright everyone, great job! Now that you’ve all mastered the underarm turn, it’s time for the progressive waltz.”

The rest of class is busy. Too busy, in face, for you to be able to talk to Vanya again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I believe I need some help on this dance,” Five says.

He’s lying, but you don’t really care.

“Sure,” you say, taking his hand.

He leads you into the dance despite being several inches shorter.

“You never mentioned dancing in your list of hobbies.”

“I don’t think it counts as a hobby since I get paid for this. It’d be like saying selling coffee to your family is my hobby.”

Five levels a glare at you that makes you think he’s struggling to not roll his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“You should have been more specific.”

Five really does roll his eyes at that.

“I see you’ve become friends with my sister.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He pauses. “Perhaps.”

He leads you into a turn and you wonder why a physically adolescent boy is competent at ballroom dancing. You no longer wonder why there would be people after a boy like Five. He can handle himself, you tell yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

“Hey Five,” you start, “You’d tell someone if you were in trouble, right? I may not know your family that well, but I know Vanya wouldn’t hesitate to help you. And I wouldn’t either.”

“Who have you been talking to?”

His response stops you short.

“Wait, so you are in trouble? Five-”

He interrupts you by calling your name. “Listen, I don’t have time for your worries. If there are people after me, I need to know if they’re close. Who did you talk to?”  
“Um, I- I’m sorry, I don’t remember their names. It was a couple, white man and a black woman. They looked like mob-“

“Were their names Hazel and Cha-Cha by any chance?”

You click your fingers. “That’s it.”

Five seems to age fifty years in one second. “Shit, I didn’t think they’d catch up so fast. When did you meet them?”

“They came into the coffee shop.”

“Fuck.” Five’s eyes stare into yours, and you’re shocked by the intent in them. “Did they suspect you? What did they say to you?”

“Five, is this because you guys are part of the Umbrella Academy? What’s going on?”

“Vanya told you about that?”

You shift. “Well, not exactly.”

“You read her book.” It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. Five shakes his head and moves past it. “Whatever. I need to know what they said to you.”

“Nothing! They just came into the shop and I heard them talking about you.”

“What did they say?”

“I don’t really remember-” Five growls your name and you rush to apologize. “I’m sorry! It was almost a week ago. I think they mentioned something about you being hard to find.”

Five relaxes minutely. “They shouldn’t have been able to pinpoint my time period at all.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” you say, taking him by his shoulder. You can tell by the wild look in his eyes that he can’t hear you.

“I need to go,” he says, shrugging off your hand, “Don’t mention to the others. They will be in danger if they know.”

“Five, what the-” He vanishes before you can finish your sentence and belatedly you remember his power.

You glance around the room, but no one seemed to have noticed. You wonder how he gets away with that.

“Where did Five go?” Vanya asks as she walks up to you.

Or maybe not, you think. You consider lying to her like Five wanted, but the idea makes you feel dirty.

“I don’t know,” you admit, “He just left. I think he’s in trouble, but he didn’t want me to tell you guys.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry; I can explain-”

“I read your book,” you interrupt, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Oh.” She stops. “When did you read it?”

“Last night. I’m so sorry Vanya, Diego mentioned it and I was just so curious. I know I should have waited for you to tell me and not invade your privacy-”

“It- It’s okay, We can talk about it later. Right now we need to find Five.”

“Do you know where he could be?”

“No. He can’t be found unless he wants to be found.”

“Maybe let’s not tell the others,” you suggest, “I don’t think Five wanted to worry anyone, but I felt like someone at least should know. He said you guys would be in danger.”

“No, you’re right. Did he say what kind of trouble he’s in?”

You shake your head. “No, I told him about this mob couple that came in the other day-”

“Wait, the mob?”

“They looked like it, but I’m not sure. They mentioned Five’s name.”

“Do you think it could be a coincidence?”

“That’s what I thought, but Five seemed to know who I was talking about it.”

“Shit,” she says.

Personally, you agree.

“Hey, where did Five go?” Diego asks. He shoots a look at Vanya like it’s her fault.

You open your mouth to answer, but Vanya beats you to it.

“Just the bathroom. He said something about taking a shortcut home.”

Diego looks at you. “Well?” He prompts.

You try to nod sympathetically. “He seemed a little overheated.”

Diego seems suspicious, but doesn’t ask any more questions. “Figures he couldn’t handle a little dancing. He’s too small.”

You force yourself to laugh. “He’s still growing.”

Diego laughs like he knows something you don’t and you wonder if you’ve made an error.

“Class ends soon anyway,” you say. Diego shrugs and goes back to where he abandoned Klaus.

Finishing up class is more difficult by the stress weighing on your mind. How, you wonder, did a person like Five get involved in something like that. You remember the short passage in Vanya’s book about his disappearance. Maybe something bad happened with some untrustworthy people. You hope Five makes it home tonight.

When class ends, everyone files out save Vanya.

“So you’re not going to ask why Five still looks like he’s thirteen?”

Of all the questions you thought she’d ask, that is not one of them.

“I honestly just figured he had Peter Pan’s disease,” you say.

Vanya lets out a brief laugh at that.

“No,” she says, “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“You don’t have to explain everything right now,” you say, “You should rest. I know you’re worried about him.”

“Yeah,” she says with a watery smile, “You know, when we were growing up, he was always my favorite. When he was gone, I would make peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches and leave them out for him every night.”

“Hey,” you say, pulling her into a hug, “He’ll be okay. He’s smart.”

Her arms wrap around you after a moment.

“I know,” she says, “I’m stupid to worry, but I can’t help it. He’s my brother. And he just looks so young and fragile.”

“He’d kill you if he heard you talking like that.”

She laughs. “Yeah, he would.”

She lingers in your arms for a moment longer before letting go.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” You look at her red eyes and smeared mascara and make a decision. “Do you want to stay over at my apartment tonight? I can promise takeout, allergy meds, and whatever show on Netflix you want to watch.”

“It’s alright,” she says, “You’re probably busy.”

“I literally just invited you to stay the night. Please. It’ll be like a slumber party from when you were little.”

“I’ve never had a slumber party,” Vanya admits.

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, now you have to come over. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Vanya smiles a teary smile.

“It’s a date,” she says. She looks around the empty classroom. “I should probably go, you have another class soon.”

“Come over at 7?”

She smiles and it looks a little bit more true. “Promise.”

Your eyes follow her as she leaves.

“So,” Matteo says, “She’s just a friend?”

You groan. “How long were you listening?”

“Long enough to hear you invite her over to your bedroom.”

“God, shut up!” You hit him on the arm. “Not everything is like that.”

Matteo shrugs with his hands in the air. “Just telling it like I see it.”

“You’re the worst.”

The two of you prep for the next class and the one after that, but for the rest of the day your mind rests on Vanya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this during 19 hours of air travel! Murder me!


	7. The Sleepover

There’s a knock on your door at seven on the dot. The sound is too soft to be anyone besides the woman on your doorstep. You have to block Princess from escaping by pulling him into your arms.

“Hey Vanya, come on in,” you say as she walks in the door, “Also, here is your medication.” You hand her the pill bottle and she smiles gratefully.

“Thanks,” she says, taking one. Her eyes are no longer bloodshot, which you take as a good sign. You can tell by the crease in her forehead that she’s still worried, but she looks better than she did earlier in the day.

“I have a stack of takeout menus ready for you, pick out whatever you want,” you say as you lead her into the sitting room. She smiles softly at you as she settles on the couch.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

You smile back at her. “Any time.”

Princess meows to sit in your lap as you plot down in the armchair. He jumps in your lap and nudges your hand until you start petting him. His name really does suit him, you think as your hand cards through his fur.

“He’s sweet,” Vanya comments.

“He’s spoiled,” you correct, “He’s only sweet to a couple people. He’s contrary like that.”

“I think most cats are.”

“Did you have pets when you were little?”

“No,” Vanya says, flipping through your too-large pile of menus, “Our dad never wanted to have to deal with an animal because they’re ‘messy’.”

“Never trust anyone who doesn’t like animals,” you advise, “No offense to your dad.”

Vanya snorts. “Not liking animals is probably the least terrible thing about him.”

You remember the long, long chapter in Vanya’s book about Reginald Hargreeves. You remember the descriptive passages about all the things he did to them. You want to tell Vanya you’re sorry that she had to go through that. You want to tell her she deserved better than that.

“So I’ve heard,” you say instead. You get the sudden urge to call your parents and tell them that you love them.

Vanya pauses for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you have. I did write about that a lot, didn’t I?”

You fidget in your chair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have read it.”

“No, no- it’s fine, but,” she says, exhaling a deep sigh through her nose, “I would have preferred for you to find out later. And I would have preferred to tell you.”

“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy like that.” The sheer awkwardness of the conversation has you wound tighter than a spring.

“It’s my own fault really, for thinking you wouldn’t connect the dots. My family doesn’t exactly take to obscurity.”

“I honestly had no idea you were famous,” you admit, “I kinda live under a rock.”

She laughs softly. “I’m not famous, my family is.”

“You’re the one who wrote a best-selling novel.”

She winces at that and you fight the urge to apologize for your misstep. “I feel like I should regret writing it.”

“But?”

She sighs. “But I don’t. Writing it was like the only time I’ve ever really… been passionate about something.”

You send her a concerned look.

“Do you have a hard time feeling excited?” You ask.

“Honestly? Yes. I feel disconnected almost all the time. It’s… exhausting.”

“I can’t even imagine,” you say, drawing your knees up to your chest. You rest your head on your knees as you debate whether or not to ask. And then you decide, of course you’re going to ask because Vanya knows you well enough by now to not get offended by abrupt questions.

“Have you ever considered meds or anything?” you question, “I know a lot of people don’t want to be on them, but sometimes they really help. My dopamine receptors were really messed up when I was a teenager and I eventually had to go on them.”

Vanya’s eyes widen like she wasn’t expecting your question. “I’m on some for anxiety, actually. I have been since I was four.”

Holy shit. Far be it for you to judge someone for taking medication, but four years old just seems so young to you. “And you’ve never switched?”

She shook her head. “No. Our father developed them specifically.”

Alarm bells ring in your head, but you don’t voice the concerns that her statement raises. “You may want to consider testing some others if you’re aren’t working anymore,” you say, shrugging, “I had to try like, four different pills before I found one that worked.”

She tilts her head in thought. “I’ll think about it.”

You doubt she will, but it’s also none of your business.

You glance down at the stack of menus still in her hand. “Have you picked one out yet?” You ask.

She hums. “I’m feeling like Thai, if that works for you.”

Your face brightens. “Sounds perfect! I’ll call when you’re ready.”

Princess hops down from your lap and winds his way over to Vanya. Traitor, you think.

Despite her allergy that’s only slightly mitigated by medication, Vanya doesn’t seem upset at the cat hopping in her lap. Absent-minded, she scratches the top of his head. You can hear him purring from your spot in your chair. You call when she’s picked out a meal and the accented voice on the phone tells you it will be ready in twenty minutes.

You hang up the phone and turn to see Vanya staring out the window, eyes distant. You look at the vaguely hunted expression lingering on her face and quietly make a decision.

“I know you’ve never been to a sleepover,’ you say as you settle down on the couch, “So it’s my duty to give you the true experience.”

Vanya’s eyebrows lift up a touch. “What does that include?”

“Generally a lot of food, staying up late, and doing something we’ll probably regret later down the road. Usually that means talking to strangers online,” you add dryly, “But I think we’re a little too old for that, so I’m open to substitutions.”

Vanya chokes off a laugh. “Is that what your childhood was like?”

“Pretty much.”

“Maybe I didn’t miss out on as much as I thought.”

You laugh. “Maybe not.”

“… You’re still going to make us do it though.”

“Oh, absolutely. We already have the food thing down. Staying up reasonably late isn’t that hard. We just need something crazy to do.” You tap your fingers against your lips. “… No chance you’d ever get a matching tattoo with me, right?”

“Not on a Tuesday at 7:30 pm.”

You let out a sound of discontentment. “We could dye our hair, I guess. Except I’m not allowed to because of work.”

“I’m not repeating that mistake again.”

“I’m sorry— _what?_ ”

Vanya dips her head back self consciously. “I was seventeen and I still lived with dad. I dyed it back before he could see it.”

Looks like Vanya has more of a rebel streak than you previously thought. “… What color?”

“Purple. Just the ends, though.”

You lean back in your seat, unfurling your legs. “I’m impressed,” you tease, “I didn’t think you had it in you. What other ‘bad hair choices’ have you made?”

Vanya tilts her head in thought. “I mean, I had bangs when I was young, but that wasn’t really my choice. I grew them out when I was a teenager. My hair was also a lot longer.”

You catch onto her last sentence. “Is this the shortest you’ve ever had it?” You ask.

She shrugs. “About, yeah.”

Your eyes brighten. “We should cut our hair! I’ve been thinking about cutting mine lately.”

“I don’t think any salons take appointments this late.”

You snort. “I’ve cut my own hair more times than I can count.”

“ _What?_ ” Vanya asks in a breathless huff of laughter, “Why?”

“I have no money and it’s cheaper than going to a salon.”

“But how many mistakes did you have to get fixed?”

“They’re never so bad that I can’t fix them myself,” you argue. Vanya gives you a pointed look. “Okay, there were a few bad ones— but those were when I was a teenager.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.”

“Okay,” you say with your hands in the air, “Whatever you say. I’m still cutting mine, though.”

 

*

 

You’re halfway through a bottle of wine and cutting your hair to your shoulders when Vanya changes her mind.

“What’s the hardest haircut you’ve ever given someone?”

You purse your lips as you clip off the third pony tail. It falls to the ground and in the back of your mind you know you’re going to have to clean up all of this later.

“I’m not sure,” you answer, “I guess it depends on your definition. Cutting coily hair is difficult for me, since I’m not a professional. I’ve really only had experience with straight hair. None of it is super hard for me by now.”

“Even undercuts?”

You turn away from the mirror to face her with a wide smile. “Vanya! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I don’t have it in me,” she protests.

You grin and pull out your phone. You go into your hair cutting folder and toss it to her.

“Here,” you say, “Take a look. Favorite all the ones you like.”

She sits there as you finish cutting your hair, scrolling through your phone. You pull out the last of the hair ties and shake your hair out. Running your hand through your now much-shorter hair, you grin in satisfaction.

“How did you learn how to do this stuff?” Vanya asks as you place her in a chair. You purposely don’t put her in front of a mirror, so she can’t see what you’re doing.

“Trial and error, mostly. I have a friend who cuts hair, and she showed me how to do things on dolls and our friends.” You go through your recently liked on your phone to see what Vanya wants. Your eyes visibly widen with excitement.

“So you’ve really never cut it this short?” You ask as you tie her hair into four sections.

“No, I guess I just never thought about it.”

You start clipping off her excess length. “Well today is your lucky day.” You stay silent as you finish cutting off the pony tails and take out her hair ties. You run your hands through her now chin-length hair and deliberate.

“You’re sure you want it like it is in the pics?”

“Do it.”

You raise your eyebrows, but don’t argue. Personally, you think she’s going to look great. You just hope she will think so too.

You clip the top section of her hair and start shaping her undercut. You really hope she likes her cut, because this is going to be a bitch to grow out.

“Vanya, this is going to look so good on you.”

“I hope so, I’ve been thinking about it forever.” Well, that makes you feel better. “Aren’t you afraid of getting hair stuck in your carpet?”

You shrug. “Not really, I”m going to have to move out soon anyway.”

“You’re moving?”

“I’m not sure yet. If I can’t find another job or a roommate, then I’m going to have to.”

“Wait, you lost your job?”

“Oops, I guess I forgot to tell you,” you say, apologizing, “My boss is changing the hours and I won’t be able to work at the coffee shop anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll survive,” you say dryly, “I don’t think this is as important as Five disappearing.”

“Neither of us can do anything about that now. But we can both do something about your imminent homelessness.”

“What can we possibly do about it tonight? Are you going to go job hunting with me?” You joke.

“We should move in together.”

You stop, accidentally making an uneven cut. “Vanya, that’s crazy.”

“Not any crazier than the rest of my life.”

“We’d kill each other. You don’t even know if I separate my laundry into darks and lights.”

“I don’t care how you do your laundry,” Vanya says. She looks like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I haven’t really… made a lot of friends. But I’d like to think that you’re one of them.”

“Oh, Vanya,” you say, “Of course you’re my friend. But are you sure about moving in? That’s a big step.”

“It doesn’t have to be permanent if you don’t want it to be,” she argues, “But it’d be easier for you than having to struggle to find another job.”

You purse your lips, thinking it over. “What time do you go to bed?” You ask.

“Generally, around midnight.”

“Are you a light sleeper?”

“A bit, yes,” she says awkwardly, “My meds mess with my sleep pattern.”

“You really need to get that checked out, Vanya.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“Yes, but I only have time a few days a week.”

The two of you could trade off nights, you think to yourself, so it’d be less stressful that way. And then you could stop ordering so much takeout.

“What is your general cleanliness level?” You ask.

“Clean, but not like a super neat-freak.”

“I have a cat,” you protest.

“I have meds,” she refutes.

“… I think we’ll work well together. If you’re sure.”

Vanya says your name while uncharacteristically looking you in the eyes. “I would love to be your roommate for however long you can put up with me.”

“That’s so romantic,” you say dryly, “Now face forward, so I can cut your hair.”

She grumbles, but remains silent as you finish cutting the length on top. You leave it a little long, just enough to have some volume.

“Okay, I think I’m done,” you say, closing the scissors with a snip. You turn Vanya around, so she can look in the mirror and you watch as her eyes widen.

“Oh my God.” She rises out of the chair instinctively, turning her head side to side.

“What do you think?” ‘Because if you don’t like it, nothing can be done,’ you tactfully choose not to add.

“I love it!”

“Really?” You try to ignore the disbelief in your voice.

“Really. I honestly wasn’t expecting it to look this good.”

“Then why did you let me cut your hair??”

She shrugs. “I needed a change. Shit. I feel like I should pay you for this.”

“I won’t be your roommate if you try.”

Vanya laughs at that. “Fair enough,” she says, running her hands through her hair. You watch her with a quiet contentment.

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“It feels so _weird_. I’ve never had hair like this before. It’s perfect— thank you so much.”

Vanya throws her arms around you and hugs you. You blink, surprised, before moving to return it.

“Have you had too much to drink?” You murmur into her hair.

“Oh shut up,” she groans, “It was half a bottle of wine. I’m a lightweight, but not that much of a lightweight.”

You stifle a grin as you release her from your arms. “If you say so.” You glance at the clock and note the late hour. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

She yawns into her elbow. “I have rehearsal at one, but that’s it.”

“Lucky. What pieces are you playing?”

She follows you back into the living room and settles down on the couch while explaining with a mixture of words you understand and some you don’t. It’s been so long since high school orchestra that you can barely remember what they mean. You wonder if you can still play, or if that too has faded.

You clean up the remnants of your takeout dinner and take it to the kitchen.

“Wine?” You offer.

“Yes please.”

You smile and dip back in the kitchen to pour two glasses. You place one on the side table next to her and Vanya smiles up at you.

“Thank you. This evening has been wonderful.”

You smile. “I’m glad I could take your mind off things.”

“You know, if we were roommates we could always have this much fun.”

“You’re sure you want to have me as a roommate?” You ask, “You never know. I might have some disgusting habits.”

“I’m literally in your apartment right now. You’re not disgusting. If anything, you should be worried about my habits.”

You click your tongue. “Touché.”

“But if you genuinely don’t want to be roommates with me, that’s okay.”

“No, Vanya,” you protest, “That’s not it. I just want you to be positive.”

“I am.”

If there’s any doubt in her voice, you can’t hear it.

“Then I would love to, Vanya,” you say. “But whose apartment?”

“I have an extra room. You can come over soon and check it out and then decide.”

“There’s always rock, paper, scissors.”

“Or flip a coin.”

You smile at her and take a sip of your wine. “I guess we should go to bed now,” you sigh, glancing at the clock.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “We should.”

Neither of you move for several more hours and several more glasses. Secretly, you hope that the two of you will have more evenings like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I'm what the fellas call: Really Fucking Sick. Anyway, Vanya is butch change my mind.


	8. The Emergency

Vanya’s phone wakes you from where you’re intertwined with Vanya on the floor of your living room. You have no memory of how you ended up there, surrounded by pillows and blankets. You barely have time to process your aching bones before you lean over and answer it on its last ring.

“Hello?” You ask, eyes bleary.

“Vanya?” The voice is familiar, but you’re unable to place it.

“She’s…” Your eyes wander to her sleeping form. She looks so peaceful with her hair sticking up and relaxed expression. “… Indisposed at the moment. Can this wait?”

“Who is this?”

You say your name and here’s a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m her friend,” you try to explain.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait, there’s been an emergency.”

That word propels you faster from sleep than any amount of caffeine could. You want to ask what happened, but you doubt the person on the line would appreciate you nosing into a personal matter.

“One second.” You force your voice to remain calm. You nudge Vanya from her position on the floor, and she wakes with little effort.

“What?” She mumbles, covering her face with her hands.

“There’s been an emergency.”

Her eyes snap open and she sits straight up.

“Give me the phone.”

You hand it over obediently, and she snatches it from you.

“I’m here, what happened?” Her eyes turn shiny as she stays on the phone. You pretend not to notice.

“Is he safe?” She rasps. There’s a pause where you presume the person responds. You feel awkward by lingering on one side of the conversation, but you would feel worse if you left her here. You don’t think this is a conversation she should be alone for.

“I’m coming over,” Vanya says into the phone. She’s already scrambling to find her purse.

“What the hell do you mean by that? I’m coming over. He’s my brother too.” She nearly misses the armhole of her jacket in her blind fury. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I’m part of this family too.”

If you weren’t so worried for her, you would be proud of her for speaking up like this. But the moment isn’t right and all you can do is hope that everything will be okay.

The person on the other end of the line must have said something to anger Vanya, because she abruptly cuts the call.

“Who was that?” You bring yourself to ask.

“My asshole of a brother,” she says. You’re still not sure which one she means. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

That makes Vanya halt in her tracks. “You’re not going with me,” she says as she turns to face you, “I don’t know whether it’ll be safe or not.”

“All the more reason for you to have backup.”

You think she can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re not going to back down.

“Fine. But we have to leave _now_.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

Five minutes later, the two of you are speeding through the city. You’re lucky it isn’t rush hour or else you think Vanya’s driving would have killed you both. The two of you don’t speak— Vanya too preoccupied with her family emergency and you too preoccupied with your imminent death by car crash.

When Vanya pulls up, you’re more surprised the two of you are in one piece than you are by the enormous mansion wedged in the middle of the city. You barely have time to admire its gothic-inspired architecture before Vanya is storming in the building. Oops. You undo your seatbelt and rush in after her.

“LUTHER!” She shouts, “WHERE ARE YOU?”

The enormous man appears in the stairway a moment later.

“I told you not to come— dammit Vanya. You could have been hurt.”

“I wouldn’t have to come all the way out here if you told me what was going on!”

“We don’t know what’s going on, that’s the point,” Luther argues, “I called specifically to tell you not to leave your apartment and could you listen? No— you even had to drag your friend into this too.” His voice starts to raise and you have to fight against your instincts that are telling you to run like hell.

“Don’t bring her into this! I’m part of this family too, I deserve to at least know if my brother is danger or not.”

“You’re a civilian, you can’t help with this.”

“I stopped being a civilian the minute I was adopted into this family,” Vanya snaps, “Where is Five?”

Luther is silent.

“Where is my brother?”

Luther opens his mouth to say something, but closes it before he can force any words out.

“You seriously don’t know, do you?” Vanya realizes, “You let them get him?” She scoffs.

“None of us knew he was in danger,” Luther argues.

Uh oh. A spike of unease travels down your spine.

“It’s Five! He never tells us anything— we’re supposed to protect him anyway! Because that’s what family does.”

“We don’t know if they go to Five, Diego’s going after them now.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

Luther gives a grim smile. “I’m not sure. Five teleported to tell us people were after him and not to leave the house.”

“Wait, why doesn’t he want you to leave the house?” You ask. Luther looks at you with a look of disdain after your interruption.

“Something about how it’s safer when we stick together.”

“And let me guess,” Vanya grits out, “None of you listened?”

Luther looks appropriately chagrined. “Some of us did.”

“Really? Who?”

“… Me and Allison.” Vanya scoffs and Luther seems to feel the need to explain himself. “Someone had to track the people after Five, and Diego was the best option!”

“And Klaus?”

“You know Klaus can’t be controlled—”

“So you let Klaus leave when there are people after Five and maybe even the rest of the family? Or did you even bother letting him know at all?”

“He wasn’t answering his phone.”

“So you go after him!” Vanya explodes. For a moment you think she’s going to start hitting him and you ready yourself. Her hands remain clenched at her sides. “You call yourself the leader of this family, but you can’t even protect us when it matters!”

“That’s enough!” Luther’s voice booms and you jump as Vanya falls silent. You stand there, tersely waiting for him to do something. Anything. He doesn’t move beyond some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Now that you’re here, you may as well stay. You’ll be safe from this ‘Hazel and Cha-Cha’ while you’re here.”

“What did you just say?” You want to believe your voice doesn’t tremble, but you know it does.

“Hazel and Cha-Cha,” he says slowly, “Why, do you know them?”

You shift your weight to your other leg. “They came into the coffee shop talking about Five last week.”

Luther looks at you with equal parts disdain and rage. “And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

You wince at his thunderous voice. “I did,” you argue, “I told Five and he told me not to tell any of you guys.” You leave out the part where you told Vanya. There’s no point in angering Luther over something that no longer matters.

“Who are they, exactly?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. They looked like mob to me, but I’m not sure.” You try to remember anything from your brief contact with them, but time has wiped your memory clean. “Five seemed to know who I was talking about.”

Luther shuts his eyes and rubs at his forehead.

“You guys stay here, I’ll alert you when we find Five.”

“No!” Vanya growls, “I deserve to help. He’s my brother too.”

“How do you think you can help? You don’t have any powers.” You wince. You think the worst part about that sentence was his detached tone.

“How dare you. How the hell is your super strength going to help find a boy in a city of millions? I can help.”

Luther grits his teeth. “I don’t have time for this.” He forcefully brushes past the two of you. “Diego’s taking too long, I’ll call you when we have news.”

The front door slams behind him. So much for sticking together.

“I fucking hate this family!” Vanya fumes as the two of you go back to the car, “I hate them, I hate them, I hate them!”

She slams her hands against the steering wheel and you try your best to sooth her.

“It’s alright,” you say, gently resting your hands on hers, “We can try to find him ourselves. We don’t need them.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” She tears her hands away from yours. Oops. Well, looks like that didn’t work. “I’m sick of my family never telling me anything— they act like I’m stupid just because I don’t have fucking super strength!”

She bangs her hands against the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn. When it’s done blaring, she rests her head against her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes after a moment, “I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.”

You smile tentatively. “It’s alright,” you promise. You scan her eyes, still simmering with anger. This is more emotion than you have seen from her in the entirety of your acquaintance. “Is there anywhere you could imagine Five might go?”

Vanya shakes her head. “No,” she says, defeated, “Five is secretive. For a reason, I guess.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound.

“Think. Is there anywhere we could start?”

She hums to herself in thought. “Maybe my apartment? That’s where he would go if he wanted to find me.”

“Then let’s go there. And if he’s not, we can try somewhere else.”

Vanya’s expression defrosts just slightly. “Alright,” she says, “Let’s start there.”

She turns the key in the ignition and starts driving back to her apartment. You’re thankful she’s going the speed limit. Out of all the things to kill you, you really don’t want it to be from reckless driving.

“What if he’s not there?” She eventually ventures to ask.

“Then we look somewhere else. Or we stay in for the rest of the day and you call in sick to rehearsal.”

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have work?”

You shift in your seat. “Yes, but I can call in. Or I can leave. You’ve probably seen more than enough of me the past twenty-four hours.” You give her a dry smile.

“No,” she says, “I’d like you to stay, if you can.”

Your heart glows a little warmer in your chest. “Of course.”

A moment later, she finds it in herself to get out of the car. You follow her up to her apartment.

You almost miss the split-second Vanya’s face goes from hopeful to devastated to blank.

“Well,” she says, voice wavering, “Looks like he’s not here.”

“Do you want to look somewhere else?”

Vanya hesitates for a moment. “No,” she says finally, “If he wants my help, he can find me.”

Inwardly, you feel relieved. You wouldn’t mind being dragged all over the city, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’re not going to find Five until he finds you. And you doubt Five would allow any harm to come to his sister. Personally, you don’t think Five is going show up until all of this is finished and Hazel and Cha-Cha are gone or six feet under.

“Then we’ll wait. If he wants to find you, he will. But there’s nothing that we can do about it now.” You glance at the watch on your wrist and see that it’s nearing lunchtime. “How about I make us some food and you can get settled in.”

“You don’t have to cook for me,” Vanya protests, “You’re technically my guest—”

“What happened to ‘future roommate’?” You tease.

Vanya closes her mouth.

“Let me prove that I can do more than order takeout. Now go change your clothes and get ready. Food will be out when you’re done.”

“I guess you’re right,” she says, wrinkling her nose as she looks down at yesterday’s clothes. Neither of you managed to remember to change into pajamas before you fell asleep.

Vanya manages to follow your instructions, and she leaves you alone to your devices. You somehow manage to open every single cabinet in her kitchen while trying to find a pan. You feel a little naughty as you snoop through her fridge. She keeps a decent amount of produce— you wonder if she’s vegetarian. Either way, it’ll work with your plans for this afternoon.

Vanya comes out with wet hair and a towel wrapped around her head just when your stir fry is finishing up.

“That smells awesome,” Vanya says as she pokes her head into the kitchen, “What are you making?”

“Veggie stir fry, is that okay? Sorry, I couldn’t find any chicken.”

She smiles— still a little too soft, still a little too sad, but you’ll take it. “It’s perfect.”

She tries to steal a bite out of the pan, but you block her. Your sympathetic nature will only go so far.

“Wait, Vanya,” you scold, “It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

She sighs in exaggerated disappointment. She takes a seat at the counter and waits patiently. You watch her out of the corner of your eye as you dish up lunch. She’s wearing pajama pants and a tank top. She looks far more exposed than she does on most days you see her. You wonder if this is how she looks when she’s most comfortable, most at home. You wonder if you’ll get to see it again.

“Here you are.” You slide the plate in front of her and for a second you get déjà vu to your brief stint as a waitress. You’re grateful that didn’t last long.

“Thank you.” She takes a bite and her eyes widen. “Wow, okay, this is actually really good.”

“I feel like I should be offended.”

“You do order take out a lot…”

“And that means I’m incompetent in the kitchen?”

Vanya shrugs with a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

“Rude!”

She even manages to laugh at that while you sulk into your stir fry.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all, “Thank you very much for lunch.”

“You’re welcome, you ungrateful fiend,” you grumble. Your chest glows with accomplishment as you managed to distract her from her worries. You seem to be doing that a lot lately. Five better come back and have a long conversation with his sister, or you’re going to join Diego and Luther in their man-hunt across the city. There’s still so much you want to ask Vanya about her family, but you don’t want to risk undoing what precarious happiness she’s managed to build within the past twenty-four hours.

An alarm goes off on Vanya’s phone and her tentative smile drains into exhaustion.

“Fuck,” she says, “I forgot to pick up my refill.”

“For your meds?”

She nods. “And I missed yesterday’s too… Fuck, that’s why I’ve been feeling so weird.”

“I can pick them up for you,” you offer, “Are you feeling okay?”

Vanya takes a moment to respond which only heightens your worry. “You don’t need to,” she says finally, “I feel a little out of control, but what’s new.”

You relax minutely. “If you’re sure.”

“I can pick them up tomorrow.”

You have doubts about whether or not it’s dangerous to skip two days of meds in a row, but you’re also not the one living with them.

You finish lunch with Vanya before calling into work. Sasha, the receptionist, wishes you well and for a moment, you feel guilty for lying to her. But then you see the dejected woman lying on the couch in her living room and decide there are better things to do with your time.

You don’t leave until it’s late in the evening and you really should get home before you end up spending another night away from your bed. Just before you pass out for the night, you send out one final wish for Vanya to be okay. Maybe, even, there won’t be an emergency next time you see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm somehow still sick! also, shoutout to Damnokracy for leaving me a recipe down in the comments.


	9. Realization

You get a text from Vanya the next day after work. You’re not quite sure how she got your number.

**Hey _,_** it says, **It’s Vanya. Can I come over?** For a heart-stopping moment, you think something worse has happened.

**Of course _,_** you type back, **Is everything okay?**

**Not really.** Uh oh. You stare at the three dots in the corner that keep disappearing as she stops typing. There’s a pause before another message pops up. **I’m just kind of freaking out.**

Your fingers don’t hesitate over the keyboard. **Come over. I’ll make dinner.**

You try to keep yourself occupied to stop your mind from worrying. It doesn’t really work, but you don’t have any better options. She’ll be here soon, you tell yourself. You repeat it to yourself every quarter hour until there’s a knock at your door. You hear it from the kitchen and in your haste, you leave the pan on heat.

“Hey.” Vanya smiles wanly as she greets you. Her eyes stare out from dark under eye bags and she’s clutching her violin case so tightly her knuckles are white.

“You look like crap,” you blurt out, “What happened?”

If Vanya is taken aback by your words, she doesn’t show it. You let her have room in the doorway to enter and shut the door behind her.

“I don’t know,” Vanya confesses, “It’s like, I was fine. But then everything started to feel overwhelming and I just… couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you came here?”

“I… I feel safe here.”

Your expression softens. “You can join me in the kitchen if you want. I have pineapple wine.”

“I’m listening.”

Vanya hunkers down at your too-small table and Princess winds around her feet.

“I’m making pasta, are you okay with that?”

“It sounds perfect.”

You take your pan of tomato sauce off of high heat, wincing as you stir it. You left it on for a little too long, but it’s still salvageable.

“Can I ask what made you come here?” You know there’s more she isn’t saying.

Vanya takes a shuddering breath. “I auditioned for a new orchestra.”

That isn’t what you were expecting. “Did it go well?”

“It went amazing. It’s like, for the first time in my life I can finally play.”

“That’s not true, I’m sure you’ve always been amazing.”

“This is different,” Vanya insists, “It’s like I could feel _everything_. The music, the people, their heartbeats. It’s never happened to me before. I didn’t know what was happening.”

“And then what?”

Vanya flushes. “I ran out of the theater. And now I’m here.”

You don’t even bother to debate with yourself on a more tactful way to say your thoughts. “Vanya do you think this is related to you going off your meds?” You’re prepared to hear a dozen variations of the same excuse. What you’re not prepared to hear is her fierce response.

“I’m not going back on them.” There’s a fire alight in her eyes, glowing brighter than you’ve ever seen before.

“No one’s making you,” you say cautiously, “But are you sure it’s same to go cold turkey on them?”

Vanya hunches in on herself with a stubborn expression on her face. “I don’t care. I’ve felt more in the past two days than I have in the past two decades. I’m not going backwards.”

You can tell you’re not going to get anywhere in this argument. “Okay,” you say. You stir the sauce one more time before crossing the kitchen to retrieve two open-mouthed glasses and the bottle hiding on top of your fridge.

“How much are you in the mood for?” You ask as you pour.

“Fill it up.”

You smother a grin and then wonder when you made the transition from vodka to wine. God, you really are your mother. Well, you think to yourself, there are worse things to be. At least you had good parents. Your eyes trace their way to Vanya as you sip from your glass. You can’t imagine what it was like for her.

“Oh shit,” you realize, “The pasta.” You leap up and stir it in time to prevent it from bubbling over onto the stove. You just cleaned it…

“Are you trying to impress me with your cooking abilities?” Vanya teases.

You half-grin at her. “Is it working?”

“It would be if your sauce wasn’t burning.”

“FUCK!”

You manage to scrape and save your meal with only some damage to your pride.

“Bon appetite.” You say dryly. You have to stop Princess from stealing your chair. He looks at you in disdain before darting off into the living room. You hope he didn’t see a mouse. You really don’t want to have to call your landlord again.

“How was your day?” Vanya asks as she takes a bite of her pasta.

“Oh you know; work, cleaning, dinner. I did get some crocheting time in, though. I finally finished my sweater.”

“Really? My scarf is still sitting in a corner of my room.”

“Bad Vanya,” you scold, “Practice makes perfect.”

The corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Her phone rings when you’re halfway through a story about a spectacularly bad fall during your patterning class today. Her smile drops when she answers.

“What do you mean, you still haven’t found him?” She hisses. You’re struck by the vindictive anger in her voice. You wonder where the sweet woman you met is hiding. Then you wonder if she really isn’t okay.

“Call me when you find him. And don’t you dare call me until you do.”

She hangs up with a violent press of her finger. It’s really not as satisfying as slamming the receiver down, you know.

“Who was that?”

“Who else,” she grumbles, “Luther. Five is still MIA.”

You give her a tight smile before reaching across the table and taking her hand in yours.

“Hey,” you say, “It’ll be okay.”

“What if it isn’t?” She asks, her voice beginning to take on a pleading tone. “I can’t lose him again: I can’t, I can’t-”

“And you won’t.” You hold her hand until she starts to calm down and then start to put away dishes.

As you’re scrubbing pasta sauce off of your bowl, you have an idea. It’s a really, really, really bad idea. It’s invasive, you acknowledge to yourself. You really shouldn’t.

“Hey Vanya,” you say with a purposely steady tone, “What are your anxiety meds called?”

Her brow furrows, but she rattles off a name that sounds only vaguely familiar to you. “Why?” She asks.

You shrug. “No reason, I was wondering if it was similar to what I was on.”

“Were your meds for anxiety?”

“Only partially. It alleviated it, but only as a side effect. I guess that’s what happens when your dopamine receptors work again.”

A half smile tugs at her lips. “I guess we’re similar that way.”

You only feel kind of guilty for what you do later that evening when you stop by the pharmacy by Vanya’s apartment under the pretense of picking up more wine.

“Name and birthday?”

“Vanya Hargreeves, 10/01/89.” You struggle to keep your nervousness from appearing and alerting the bored pharmacist.

“Sign here.”

You obey, forging Vanya’s signature with mediocre proficiency. You’re just lucky you know what it looks like in the first place.

“Would you like this refilled?”

“Yes please,” you say hastily.

The pharmacist turns away to type something into the computer before turning back to you.

“There will be no copay today, so you’re free to go.”

You smile at her. “Thanks so much! Have a nice day.”

You drive off with adrenaline rushing through your veins. You feel reassured by how boring the conversation was that she doesn’t suspect anything. The thought doesn’t stop your heart from racing. A breathless laugh escapes you and you’re coasting so high that you almost forget to pick up wine from the corner store like you told Vanya you would.

You really shouldn’t have done that, you tell yourself as you drive back to your apartment.

Yeah, you think, but you did.

When you reappear in the living room, Vanya doesn’t seem to suspect anything. She’s curled up in the armchair, nursing her third glass of wine.

“Hey,” you say, “Are you doing okay?” You set the second bottle down on the end table and look around for a corkscrew. You think you left it in the kitchen.

Vanya shrugs. “I guess. Just worried.”

“That’s normal, I would think.”

“I don’t think there is a normal in this situation.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledge, “I guess there isn’t.” You retrieve the corkscrew and open the bottle, filling your glass back up.

“Do you want a top off?”

Vanya shakes her head. “Not right now, I will in a bit.”

You shrug and lean back in your chair. Your eyes fall on Vanya’s violin that’s sitting neglected in the corner of your living room.

“What are you playing for your next concert?” You ask.

“We actually just finished up rotation. The only thing I’ve played recently is my audition piece.”

“Would you show me?”

“Like… Play for you?” Vanya’s voice is uncertain.

“If you want to.”

Vanya hesitates before uncurling and setting her glass down on the end table.

“Well,” she says, “If you insist.”

She unpacks her violin with still hands, but the tension in her neck belies her anxiety. You would have thought after everything today Vanya would have lost her ability to be nervous.

Vanya slides her shoulder rest into place and rests it on her shoulder. Her nerves seem to start to die off when she draws her bow across the string. You vaguely recognize the tune from something you’d heard in orchestra class. Mozart, maybe?

Your eyes linger on her fingers flying on the strings. No, not Mozart. It sounds Russian. Romantic period.

Her eyes are closed and you can feel the sense of weightlessness that you associate with beautiful music. A moment later, you realize it’s not only your spirit that’s being buoyed by Vanya’s musical skill. Everything in your living room is currently hovering half a foot above the floor. You glance at your chair and realize that you, too, are weightless.

You struggle to control your volume. “Vanya?”

She doesn’t react.

“Vanya, open your eyes!”

Her eyes fly open and for a moment, everything freezes. There’s a dozen crashes as everything drops back to the floor. The bottle of wine spills onto your hardwood floor in a pool reminiscent of blood.

“Holy… What was that?” Vanya asks in disbelief.

You stare around your living room, eyes gazing past a broken lamp and a terrified cat.

“I think you know.”

Vanya shakes her head so slightly that you almost missed it. “No, no, no. No way. That definitely wasn’t me. It was…”

“What? Gravity just stopped working for a second? Vanya come on, you can’t deny that-”

“That what? That I did that? That I have powers? There’s no way. My father would have-”

“What? Told you? Because he was such a good father in the first place, he never would have hid something from you.”

Vanya’s silent for a moment and you can see the realization dawn on her face.

“Shit,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said I update on Mondays... I never specified which monday. Shoutout to humblepirate for writing a very nice review and inspiring my lazy ass to sit down and write :-)


	10. Meet the Parents

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Vanya asks an hour and a half into the car ride.

“Of course,” you say, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I can think of a few.”

“And what are those?”

Vanya blinks. “Well,” she drawls, “For one, you might get hurt. We don’t know what I’m capable of. And two, you’re taking me to meet your parents.”

“Well, one— no I’m won’t. Two, they’re very nice people and they happen to live in the middle of nowhere so if something goes wrong, no one will get hurt.”

“Except for you, you mean.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, Vanya.” You glance at her through the rearview mirror.

“You just said I might lose control and injure someone on accident.”

“You’re twisting my words,” you argue, “Now hush while I drive.”

Vanya manages to stay silent for a grand total of three minutes. “— But what if something goes wrong and it’s my fault?”

“And what if I slam on the brakes and the truck tailgating me slams into us and kills us instantly? What if I jerk the wheel hard enough and we go flying into a ditch?” You say, “Relax Vanya, we’re going to be fine. You’re just worrying yourself for no good reason.”

“I have a very good reason; it’s called we’re not sure what I’m capable of yet— Maybe there’s a good reason why my dad didn’t tell me about this.”

You force yourself to keep the misplaced anger out of your voice. “Is there also a very good reason why he drugged you for your entire life with the minor side effect of suppressing your emotions?”

Vanya is silent. For a moment you think you’ve gone too far and then you remind yourself that she needs to hear this from someone. And no one else in her family seems to be willing to help her. Once again, you’re grateful that you grew up with the family that you did. Surprisingly, you seem to be the most well-adjusted out of all your friends.

“We’re almost there,” you say after a period of silence passes. Vanya hums in response and continues staring out the window until you turn onto a dirt road that connects to your driveway. After a quarter of a mile, your childhood home clambers into view, standing almost untouched by time. Though, you think to yourself, the siding could go with a new coat of paint.

“This is your house?”

“Well,” you say as you put the car in park, “Technically it’s my parents’ house. But, yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.” If it wasn’t for the genuine awe in her voice you would’ve thought she was joking.

You snort. “Vanya, I’ve seen your house.You grew up in a mansion.”

“That’s different.”

You look at her, but she doesn’t seem to want to elaborate. Shaking your head to yourself, you unstrap and jump out of the car.

“Come on,” you say, “Let’s go meet my parents.”

Vanya slinks in after you as you slam open the screen door.

“Mama! Dad! Where are you guys?”

“We’re in the kitchen,” your dad’s voice calls. You follow the sound to see them sitting at the breakfast bar.

“You don’t have to shout, sweetie. I’m fifty-six, I’m not deaf.”

“Yet,” your dad adds.

“You’re one to talk, you’ve been going deaf for the last eight years.”

“I have not!”

Your mom huffs and turns to Vanya with a gleam in her eye. “Can I get anything for your friend?”

“Oh, that’s— that’s alright,” Vanya stutters, “I’m fine.”

Your mom clucks her tongue. “Are you sure?”

Vanya shrinks into herself. “… Maybe a water, please.”

An hour later, your mom has the four of you sitting in the living room as she drills Vanya for her life story. You probably should have warned Vanya this might happen

“Mom,” you interrupt, “I was planning to show Vanya around the property while it’s still bright out.”

Your mom laughs. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you. I’ll just put my hat on—”

“Actually, I was going to show her it alone,” you say.

“Oh!” Your mom looks surprised for a moment before a mischievous grin crosses her face. “Well, in that case, I’ll get some sewing done.” She gives you wink and you do your best to ignore her best attempts at embarrassing her only child. You’re not quite sure if she thinks you guys are dating, but you decide not to correct her. You don’t have time for that conversation.

Vanya is silent as the two of you get ready to go into the muddy woods. When you finally look at her, her cheeks are flushed pink. You wonder if she’s feeling okay.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You glance down at her feet. “You’ll put on some waders if you don’t know want to regret your choices later.”

She acquiesces when you show her a pair sitting in the mud room. Yours are still where you kept them when you were younger. You smile a little when you see your childhood drawings are still pasted inside the cubby.

“Okay, now I’m ready,” Vanya says. Her pink nose peaks out from where she’s bundled inside of her coat and a too-large hat. The image is reminiscent of a toddler trying on their parents’ clothes. You decide not to tell her that.

The two of you are quiet as you walk through the woods in your parents’ backyard. The birds are quiet in the aftermath of last night’s storm— the last rain of the year, in all likely hood. You miss the snow on the ground, it’s a lot prettier than the brown slush you’re walking through now. You wonder if the birds will notice the two of you as you go deeper into the forest, or if they’re too busy rebuilding what remains of their nests to care.

You cast a glance towards Vanya, eyes gazing over her nervous twitching as you decide not to break the silence.

You stop walking when you hit a clearing.

“This should be far enough away,” you say, leaving up against a tree as you readjust your jacket.

“Are you sure?” Vanya’s voice sounds doubtful.

You shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“That’s reassuring.” Vanya shifts her weight into the slowly sinking mud.

“Are you ready?” You ask once again.

“As I’ll ever be,” she echoes, “How should we start?”

“What do you remember from the night at my apartment?”

“I remember having dinner.”

“I mean when you were playing for me. What was different?”

Vanya’s forehead wrinkles in concentration.

“I remember listening to the music and just… just listening. It was like I could feel the sound twisting around me.”

“Could you sense your surroundings?”

“Kind of. Not the way you’re thinking.”

“Can you explain it for me?” You ask.

Vanya is silent for a moment as she parses out her thoughts. “It’s like I could feel the space around the objects through the music.”

“Like echolocation?”

Vanya tilts her head from side to side in a noncommittal move.

“Kind of.” She doesn’t explain any further.

“Could you try using the sound around us instead of music?”

“I guess,” Vanya says. You don’t hear any hope in her voice.

You watch silently as Vanya closes her eyes and her fist tenses at her side. The lines between her eyebrows deepen as she concentrates on the sounds of nature in the quiet wood. The burbling of a nearby creek. The soft footsteps of wildlife. The slightly labored breathing from both of you as you struggle to catch your breath from walking on the uneven terrain of the forest floor. You are no longer comfortable walking on uneven ground, feet too used to walking in the city year after year. You should come home more often, you think to yourself. For more reasons than one. You think this is the first time you’ve visited home since your birthday.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by a loud crash as the tree branch above you snaps out of place. You look up at it in half awe half terror as you stand fixed to the ground.

Vanya’s body slams into you and you both fall to the side, tree branch crashing directly on where you were moments ago. You look up into Vanya’s eyes as she lays over you, body pressed against your own.

“Are you okay?”

“I… I’m fine at the moment.” You cover up your momentary fear with a teasing grin. “I’ve never been better, actually.”

Vanya’s eyes trail down your body as she realizes the position you two are in. Your grin widens as she rolls off your body.

“What— on earth— was that?” Vanya asks.

You’ve _got_ to be joking, you think to yourself with a fond exasperation. “You know what that was,” you say.

“What do you mean? That I—” She pauses. “No. There’s no way that was me. I wasn’t trying to…” She cuts off.

“I know you weren’t trying to,” you say, “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t you, Vanya.”

Vanya looks close to tears.

“Hey,” you say, scooting closer to her on the muddy forest floor. “It’s okay.” You put your arm around her, but she shrugs it off.

“No, it’s not! I almost killed you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. The worst thing I got was muddy pants.” Vanya shoots you a glare. “And think of it this way, at least now we know how your powers are triggered.”

Vanya tries to keep glaring at you, but she just breaks down into hysterical laughter.

“Do you really not have any sort of self-preservation?” She asks.

“Honestly, I’m offended that you think I ever had any.”

Vanya just laughs harder.

“Okay,” you say, jumping to your feet, “Let’s try again.”

Vanya disregards your outstretched hand in favor of looking at you in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I almost killed you.”

“Emphasis on the almost.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not right in the head,” Vanya mutters under her breath.

“Well, now we know your reflexes are fast enough that you can save me! Let’s at least try one more time.”

Vanya pinches her eyes closed and looks for all the world like she’s praying for your sanity.

“Fine,” she says when she opens them, “But only one more time.”

You smile.

 

*

It was not one more time. One time turned into two, which turned into a dozen quicker than you— or Vanya— expected. You kind of feel like you’re starring as a grumpy yet well-meaning coach in a football coming-of-age movie. Though, you think to yourself as you dodge yet another branch that comes crashing down, maybe it’s more of an x-men movie.

“You’re doing great!” You say, giving her two thumbs up.

“No, I’m not! I can barely control anything and— and I feel like my head is about to explode!”

Your expression softens in the face of Vanya’s frustration.

“Okay, we should stop for today.”

Vanya looks up at you, red eyes abating. “Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve made a lot of effort today, Vanya.”

“I’m still nowhere near as controlled as Five. Or any of them.”

“Don’t compare yourself to your siblings,” you scold, “They’ve had decades to hone their powers. You’ve had a day and a half.”

Vanya’s lips twitch into a small smile at that. “I guess so,” she says.

You look at the time on your phone. “It’s close to dinner time, let’s head back.”

The walk back is quiet, the both of you still recovering. The silence breaks when you make it back in time for dinner. Dinner is a slightly awkward affair that you manage to brush off because you’re used to your parents’ brusqueness. Vanya, on the other hand, is another story.

“So how did you meet our daughter?”

“Through, uh, mutual friend.”

“Her brother came into the shop to try and set us up because he though she’s lonely.” Vanya shoots you a glare that you pretend not to see.

Your mom’s face lights up. “Oh, how cute!”

“Cute is one word for it,” Vanya mutters under her breath. You stifle a grin.

“And what is it that you do?” Your dad asks.

“I play violin in our city’s orchestra.”

“How wonderful! Are you any good!”

“Mom!” You protest.

“I’m just asking, sweetie,” she scolds as if you are the one in the wrong.

Vanya coughs. “Yes… I’m good.”

“You know, our little girl used to play cello in high school,” your dad brags.

Vanya turns to you in surprise. “You used to play cello?”

You shrug. “Yeah, haven’t for a while now.”

“Why did you quit?”

“Yes,” your mother echoes, “Why did you quit, sweetie?”

You’re not really sure. Maybe a lack of time, maybe a lack of determination. You’re not quite sure when your fingers stopped playing melodies and you stopped keeping time with songs as you listened. Not that you could keep time well, according to your old orchestra teacher. Your one saving grace was that no cellist can.

“Don’t know,” you end up saying, “Things fade.”

Vanya keeps looking at you oddly through dinner even as your mom swiftly changes the subject to Vanya’s life in an effort to scrape as much knowledge as possible out of her. You have no doubt that at the end of dinner, your mom knows more about Vanya than you do.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix the guest room up for you, Vanya. If _someone_ ,” your mom shoots you a look, “Had given me more notice, we would’ve finished renovations faster.”

“Oh that’s perfectly fine!” Vanya says, letting out an embarrassed laugh, “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

Your mom smiles kindly, but you can see the underlying mischievousness. It’s easy to stop when you see the same look in the mirror. “It’s no trouble. It’s been so lovely getting to know you.”

Your parents bid you goodnight at 9:30 and trundle off to bed. Your mom sends you a wink and you don’t have the heart to correct her, so you let it slide.

“Your parents seem nice,” Vanya says as she brushes her teeth in the bathroom right off of your room.

“Yeah,” you say, “They are.” You shimmy out of your regular clothes to change into your pajamas. It’s cold enough for fleece pants, you realize with a smug sort of happiness. As you make your way to the bathroom, you trip over something sticking out from beside the bookcase.

“Mother FUCKER!”

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you groan, “I’m just being dramatic.”

Vanya stifles a laugh as her immediate panic fades away. Holding a hand to your head, you check what it is that you tripped on.

“Oh my god,” you say unprompted, “I didn’t know this was still here.”

Vanya leans overyou to see what you’re looking at. “Is that your cello?”

“Looks like it.” You pull it out from the corner it’s shoved into and take it out of its case. “I thought this was in the attic, or they sold it, or something. I had no idea it’s been here this whole time.”

“When’s the last time you played?”

Your nose scrunches up as you think. “Probably sophomore year of college. I stopped taking orchestra when my workload got too busy. I never ended up picking it back up.”

“Do you still remember how to play?”

You shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”

You find your old sheet music under your bed and you pick out the first song you come upon that seems relatively easy. It’s hard for a tango to sound bad on cello— at least to your ears. Your eyes land on Vanya and you belatedly remember she’s a professional orchestra member. Too late to back out now.

You tighten the endpin and fix the woefully out of tune strings. You draw the bow across the strings and are mildly pleased by the sound.

“I’m going to use actual music, because I’m not a magician who can play without reading the notes,” you say dryly.

A smile teases at Vanya’s lips. “Understandable.”

You draw in a deep breath, attempting to quell the rising performance anxiety in your chest. Slowly, and a tad clumsily, you begin to play.

It’s not hard to remember, you realize as you’re halfway down the second page. A combination of muscle memory and familiar music made it relatively easy to start back up. You can feel the familiar weightlessness that comes with playing.

Wait.

You continue playing with one only skipped bar as you take your eyes off the page. As you suspected, you’re resting four inches above the earth. A smile tugs at your lips. Well, you think, if Vanya enjoys your playing that much, then you won’t stop.

You play until your fingers hurt and your eyes are so bleary that you can’t read the music. When you stop, you’re gently lowered to the ground.

“Did you know you were doing that?”

“Doing what?” Vanya asks.

You smile, but don’t answer. Even if she isn’t aware of it, you know that Vanya can control her powers.

You wonder if she’ll ever figure it out for herself. Until then, you’ll just have to make up for her lack of faith by believing in her even more intensely.

Vanya stifles a yawn into her hand and you smile softly to yourself.

“Ready for bed?”

Vanya nods, eyes drooping shut. “Sorry,” she says, “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“No problem,” you say as you pout your cello away, “I am too. You need your sleep after today.”

You slip under the covers on your side, facing Vanya as she curls up under the duvet.

“Sorry you had to share my room with me,” you apologize.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

The two of you are quiet for so long that you almost drift off to sleep.

“Do you think they knew?” Vanya’s quiet voice asks in the dead silence.

You crack open your eyes to see worry glimmering in hers. You don’t know the answer. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I hope not.”

Vanya is quiet as her hand snakes over to hold yours. She squeezes it lightly and you interlace your fingers.

“I’m sorry Vanya,” you say.

She doesn’t reply and for a moment you think she’s fallen asleep.

“I’ll be okay,” she says eventually, “Will you play cello for me again sometime?” Her voice is hopeful.

You laugh. “Whenever you want,” you promise.

Interlaced, the two of you fall asleep in your childhood bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway done fellas.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing & wanna talk to me follow my tumblr @emmawicked.


End file.
